


Rebirth

by glittagal333



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Gotham (TV)
Genre: Be gentle, My First Work in This Fandom, OR IS HE, alfred liiiives, batfam feelings, post-arkham knight, so bruce is dead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4854314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glittagal333/pseuds/glittagal333
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Batman is dead. Gotham is at the mercy of a new league of villains that have come out of hiding from the Dark Knight's shadow.<br/>But the ones he left behind won't let his legacy die so soon.</p><p>Originally a collection of drabble like pieces set post-Arkham Knight - now moreso an actual post-game story, with various pieces of other Batverses sprinkled here and there for decoration.<br/>Tags will be added with updates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ghosts of the Robins

**Author's Note:**

> The largest of notes: there's a few pieces of canon that I've dropped from Arkhamverse, and some from the comicsverse I've chosen to add. All of the Batfam know Jason, for starters. Tim has his Robin's Nest and isn't married to Barbara. And Alfred liiiives.
> 
> Oh man. If there's anything I've left out here that you don't understand, leave a comment! I'll explain it. Have fun. I hope my writing skills aren't too rusty; this is the first time I've written fic in seven thousand years.  
> You can find me on tumblr, too: bowdowntomama.tumblr.com
> 
> (The chapter title is from a quote by Thomas Bailey Aldrich.)

“Computer, locate tracking signals on all Batman equipment.”

Two weeks.  
It had been two weeks since Wayne Manor had been decimated in multiple explosions with Bruce Wayne inside of it. The Batcave, being underground, did have a chance of being unharmed, but the entrance was likely buried under piles and piles of rubble.

Tim was glad he had built this place, then – the Robin’s Nest. His very own Batcave, though far less sizeable, housed an incredible computer that he had been working on whenever he had the time to spare. It was unlinked to Bruce’s computer network, and the elaborate police and criminal database within it had been programmed by him and him alone.  
It wasn’t like he didn’t trust Bruce. It was just that the computer back in the Batcave was a little lacking, at times, for his liking – a feeling that was more than likely exclusive to Tim – and the technophile inside of him kept whispering _I can totally build something better than this_.

So he did. And nobody (he hoped) knew about it other than him.

{“ _All tracking signals inactive or destroyed_.”} the computer replied, showing a holographic map of the city with no pinging red points like he had hoped for.

Tim balled his fists. He had been combing the city over and over again, relentlessly. He’d barely slept, and needed reminders from friends to eat. When he actually _talked_ to his friends, that is.

There was no way Bruce was dead. No way. It was a distraction, the explosions, from the reveal of his actual identity. It had to be. Bruce would contact him any day now, telling Tim he was in hiding somewhere outside of the country or something and that he’d return when everything had died down a considerable amount.

“Computer, locate the Batwing.”

 

 

 

“You haven’t touched your food, Master Drake.”

After the destruction of Wayne Manor, Alfred – who had miraculously come to little harm after the explosions – had taken up residence in the penthouse that sat at the very top of the Wayne Company building. Apparently Bruce had lived here briefly for a time after Dick finished being Robin and became Nightwing.  
So here they were. An incredibly quiet, tension soaked ‘family’ made up of Alfred, Tim and Jason. Sometimes Barbara or Dick would visit, but...

Not often enough.

“Tim,” Jason’s voice was sharp, but there’s a tinge of worry in it. “ _eat_.”

He eventually picked up his fork and poked at the bolognese on the plate before him. He swallowed a forkful and felt it drag all the way down like sandpaper.  
He hasn’t had an appetite for a while, now.

The silence hung, and hung and hung some more, awkward and choking. Tim felt Jason’s eyes on him the entire time he ate. At least Alfred had the decency to pretend to busy himself in the kitchen.

“Where have you been?” Jason asked suddenly, breaking the quiet at long last.

“Busy.” Tim replied. The Red Hood snorted in irritation.

“That’s not a place.”

“I know.”

A beat of silence, in which Tim thought Jason was going to drop it.

“Alfred says you’ve barely been home.”

“I just said I’ve been busy.”

“With what?”

“None of your business.”

He didn’t have to be looking at Jason to know he was glaring.

“It’s not gonna do any of us any good,” his voice was tight. “to shut each other out.”

“Then where are _you_ going at night?” Tim suddenly snapped. “I’m not an idiot. I know you’ve been sneaking out. You’re holding your left arm awkwardly because you’re supposed to wear a sling when you’ve been _shot in the shoulder_. Right?”

Jason’s posture tensed.

“I wasn’t just going to stand by and watch a woman being mugged.”

“Every single night for the past week?”

Another beat. Jason exhaled loudly.

“I just... I need a distraction. There are people out there who aren’t mourning, Tim. People who are celebrating a Gotham without the Dark Knight—“

“He’s _not_ dead!”

Tim’s shrill seemed to leave Jason somewhat stumped. In the kitchen, he heard Alfred drop some sort of cutlery on to the floor.  
The quiet was a lot worse now. Tim pushed himself away from the table and headed for the penthouse door.

He heard Jason yelling after him, but he ignored it. This place was too small. It looked so modern compared to Wayne Manor.

It wasn’t home at all.

 

 

 

{“ _Unable to locate Batwing. Signals are offline._ ”}

Three weeks since the destruction of Wayne Manor and the apparent death of Batman. This search hadn’t just been of the city – the computer had been instructed to search the entire globe, something which Tim had painstakingly programmed and installed when the idea had come to his mind.

“But that’s not right,” Tim said between gritted teeth. “Even if it’s been destroyed, you must be able to find the remains.”

{“ _Unable to locate any craft without functioning, traceable signals._ ”}

“Then I’ll just have to write up the programming code and build it in.”

This was getting slightly beyond even his prowess. Barbara would be able to do it, no problem, but then she’d find out about this place.  
About what he was doing. He couldn’t let that happen.

He reluctantly dragged himself away from the dozens of screens and flopped on to the couch tucked away in a corner of the Nest. As much as he wanted to start writing up the coding right away, sleep pulled heavy on his eyelids and he soon drifted off against his will.

                                                                                                                      ***

{“ _Authorization not recognised. Access denied._ ”}

“Aw, come on. I just want to know what he’s been doing..!”

Tim jumped awake but kept his eyes shut and continued feigning sleep. Somebody was in here. In his Nest.  
He was very sure he knew who it was, too, but you could never be too careful. Not in Gotham. Not in a Gotham without Batman, certainly.

{“ _Authorization required to unlock session._ ”}

“Damnit, Tim.”

Yep. That was Dick. How the hell had he found this place? Tim hadn’t told anyone about it. He’d made sure it was virtually invisible in terms of digital signals.  
There was no point in continuing to play unconscious, so he blinked the sleep from his eyes and slunk off of the sofa.

“Dick.”

The former Robin turned from the screens, eyes wide and face the picture of a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar – or, in this case, caught in the secret base of a close friend trying to pry through their stuff.

“Tim, I know this looks really bad—“

“How did you find this place?”

“Seriously? I followed you here. You’re a little off top-form, Boy Wonder. You didn’t notice at all.”

Tim was honestly too exhausted to be angry at both himself and Dick. All he could do was sigh wearily and scratch his head.

“Why are you here?”

“Jason called me. Said you’ve been acting funny, that you’ve been gone for days at a time. I guess this is where you’ve been, then.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve been sleeping on a couch in an old building in Amusement Mile. Without any backup, in the most seedy part of Gotham. Maybe you think you’re fine, but you’re sure as hell not _safe_ ,” Dick folded his arms. “If I followed you here, how do you know someone else hasn’t?”

Tim didn’t say anything, casting his eyes on the ground.

“Jason said... that you didn’t think Bruce was dead,” Dick’s voice was soft now. “Is that what all of this is for? Have you been... _looking_ for him, Tim?”

It all happened very fast. Despite his smarts, and what he did and how he acted, Tim was barely a grown man, who hadn’t allowed himself time to mourn, or to rest, or to eat.  
Hadn’t allowed himself to cry. Even Jason had done that.

He couldn’t stop it happening even if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He was just so exhausted, and upset. He felt abandoned. He felt lost.  
What was Robin supposed to do without Batman?

Tim allowed himself to be held by Dick as soon as his shoulders began to shake, and the tears began to streak down his cheeks, and ugly, raw sobs forced their way from his mouth. It just kept coming, all of it – three weeks worth of sorrow flowing from his body, something compressed that had been looking for the slightest give to escape.

“It’s n-not fair,” the boy managed between sobs. “It was going to be okay. It was all o-over, and then he just—!”

Dick didn’t say anything, just continued to let Tim vent and wail and begin to heal, slowly but surely, in his arms, one hand gently stroking once-shaved hair that was beginning to grow past the stubble it was normally kept at.

“Tim,” he eventually said. “I know it’s hard. Everyone’s hurting right now – maybe you more than the rest of them. But you can’t keep doing this. Bruce wouldn’t want you to do this.”

He felt the boy tense up against him, but spoke before anything else could come of it.

“Gotham needs to be kept safe from the people that Bruce fought so hard to keep from making it their own. And you helped him do that. He picked you because you’re sharp, and strong. You can negotiate like no one else, Tim – you don’t need violence to end wars,” Dick continued. “And after everything that’s happened, Gotham needs someone like that.”

Tim processed these words whilst wiping the dampness from his face. He suddenly felt like his age was showing – how had he so stubbornly pushed away the one thing that Bruce had loved more than anything?  
Gotham. The reason he had worn the cowl in the first place. The reason he had needed a Robin.

He had let this obsessive search take him over entirely, stubbornly refusing to believe that he could be proven wrong because he was Tim Drake, the smartest of their group. He had closed all of his friends out and made their period to mourn worse by making them worry about him on top of it all.

Maybe Bruce wasn’t dead. But Tim needed to leave the mystery alone and become his own person. He needed to protect Gotham in his mentor’s place.

“I’ve... I’ve been so stupid.”

“Hey – you’re not stupid. Sometimes our emotions can make us act out, do things even the smartest people wouldn’t do. But once you realise you’ve been doing the wrong things, it means you can start doing the right thing. And I know that you’ve always been good at doing the right thing.”

Tim carefully pulled himself from Dick’s embrace and turned to the screens they stood before, swallowing the last lump in his throat before clearing it.

“Computer... cease all running location scans.”

{“ _Are you sure you wish to proceed with this command?_ ”}

He couldn’t get the word out at first. Had to take in one, two, three shaking deep breaths.

“... Yes.”

{“ _All location scans have been ceased._ ”}

That was it. Three weeks of obsessive work, removed with a single word. He hung his head, sighing. But at the same time, it felt like a tremendous weight had been lifted from him.

It was over. For now.

“Y’know, I’m still trying to figure out how you managed to hide... all of this from everyone,” Dick noted after a brief, comfortable quiet. “I mean, this is like your own Batcave.”

“It’s the Nest. The Robin’s Nest.”

“Neat,” Dick managed a small smile. “I meant what I said, Tim – you’re smart. You’re gonna need those brains to navigate this new chapter in Gotham’s history. Nobody’s gonna be predictable anymore.”

“I know.”

“You and Jason are gonna have your hands full – I mean, I’ll be more than happy to swoop in from Bludhaven every now and then to save your asses – but I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it in no time.”

Dick gave Tim a playful punch in the shoulder before turning to the Nest’s exit.

“But seriously. If you need me, let me know. Okay?”

Tim nodded.

“Thanks, Dick.”

 

 

Four weeks since the apparent death of Batman and the destruction of Wayne Manor. Night’s cloak of darkness covered the city and made its shadows longer, more menacing, and its endless alleyways appear as passageways in a doomed dungeon.

“Pl-please, you can have my wallet – just leave my daughter alone!” a man cried in desperation. He was held up against a brick wall with a knife to his throat by a youth in a balaclava. A few feet away, his accomplice was looming over a girl who couldn’t have been older than twelve.

“Hey, girlie – hand over the pearl earrings, too.” he spat, his gun pointed at her shaking form. She was too afraid to move. “I think the boss’ll like her, eh, Bob?” the one with the knife asked, awful glee in his voice. “Always had a thing for blondes.”

“Not my daughter! I’ll do anything, pl-please!”

“Shut up, old man! I’ll cut your damn throat!”

Unbeknownst to the foursome below, two figures stood on the rooftops observing the scene playing out. They both wore hoods, but whilst one figure had two firearms hanging around his belt, the other balanced his weight on a bo staff.

“I can’t kill _those_ guys? _Seriously_?” Jason growled in a hushed tone. “They’re _begging_ to have bullets lodged in their chests.”

“No killing. If we’re going to keep up Batman’s work, we’re going to do it his way.” Tim replied.

“Pft. Whatever. You ready to do this?”

“Yeah. Let’s clean this city up.”

Robin and Red Hood leapt from their hiding spot and charged the rookie villains below them.


	2. When in Gotham, do as the Roman does

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to one's past drags up pain - both physical and emotional.
> 
> A villain returns to claim what is his, and a hero returns to old home territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've thrown another Batman verse into the mix. I'm full of sin and promise I will make this work. Going with my gut seems to be doing wonders for my muse, so I'm sticking with it. Also: I will be away this weekend so I'm not sure how much writing will get done. We'll see.
> 
> As always, you can harass me here on tumblr: bowdowntomama.tumblr.com

“Hello, gorgeous. Absence really does make the heart grow fonder.”

Carmine Falcone took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the night skies of Gotham City from the deck of a ship that inched closer and closer to the shores. It had been nearly a year and a half since he and his family had fled the city, during the rise of Strange’s superprison, Arkham City. A lot of the Falcone mob had been caught and dragged into that horrible place, kicking and screaming and now, more than likely, dead.

But Carmine could smell something fishy from a mile off, which prompted him gathering his more treasured family and associates and relocating to Bludhaven whilst all hell broke loose back in Gotham. He could also smell when things were ripe for harvesting – like a Gotham where Batman was dead and Cobblepot was behind bars, at long last.

Yes. It was finally time to restore proper order to his city. No more costumed freaks, deciding what the law was and what wasn’t. No. His city was one where money was plentiful, where cops with the right friends were invincible, and criminals were untouchable.

“Mr. Falcone, sir?” an associate approached him on the deck. “We should hit land in about thirty minutes.”

“Wonderful. It _does_ feel good to be back.”

“Ah... there was one other thing, sir.”

An unattended clump of ash on the end of his cigarette fell on to the man’s immaculate dress shoes.

“What is it?”

“The weaponry stashes have all been raided, sir. A lot of the bases were destroyed when Arkham City was bombed, too.”

Carmine sniffed, irritated.

“And the townhouse?”

“Safe, sir, thankfully.”

“Hm. That will have to do for now. We’ll take anything of Cobblepot’s we can lay our hands on tomorrow night.”

“Yes, sir.”

It was to be expected that the freaks would lay waste to as much of his empire as they could in his absence. No matter – it would be just as easy to reclaim, if not easier, now that the Bat was finally dead and gone.

Soon, Gotham would be under the control of the Roman again, and would be just as glorious as he had always envisioned it to be.

                                                                                                                      ***

The city was strangely quiet during the drive from the docks into the city proper, which was incredibly odd for a place like Gotham – always alive with something more than likely unscrupulous and alarming. One learned to walk fast, and tear their eyes away from things that their brains begged them to take another look at.

As the car rolled past streetlights which lit the city in an eerie, unnatural orange and slummy buildings which steadily gave way to towering scrapers and expensive storefronts, Carmine couldn’t help feeling a little out of touch.  
Sure, it largely looked the same. But the aura that hung over Gotham at night, one of constant dreaded anticipation and a sort of alert that quickly exhausted the mind was getting to him in a way that it never had before.

Batman was gone. Things were different now – a sort of different they hadn’t been in a long time.

The townhouse soon came into view, but everything inside of Falcone was telling him to not get out of the car. Was he... scared?

No. Carmine Falcone feared no one. And yet this sensation continued to prick the back of his neck like thousands of tiny needles, not painful, but making itself known. Loudly.

The car stopped. His bodyguards stepped out first – one from the front seat, and then the two sitting on either side of him – whilst a ‘family member’ in training headed up the steps of the beautiful Georgian red brick and began unlocking the front door.

“Welcome home, Mr. Falcone.” one bodyguard held open the car door for him.

Nothing outwardly betrayed the unease churning through his body inwardly. He appeared as stoic as ever as he stepped out of the car, even though the same feeling that had pushed him to leave Gotham was now screaming, thrumming through his bloodstream.

He stood in the open air and...

Nothing. Nothing happened. Maybe he _had_ been gone too long.

“Yes,” he said, relaxing a little. “It’s been much too long.”

All three bodyguards accompanied the Don up the steps to the front door, which had finally been unlocked due to stiffness.

That was when the first gunshot rang through the air.

The guard to Falcone’s right expelled a near comical amount of blood from his mouth and went down fast.

“Get him in the house!” another roared to the trainee. “ _Now_ , for Christ’s sake!”

The boy nodded, face ghost white with panic as he ushered Falcone inside the house and slammed the front door afterwards.

The muffled gunfire outside didn’t last long – the death rattles of the remaining bodyguards followed all of ten seconds after the door had been shut.

“Wh.. what do we d-do, Mr. Falcone? Th-they’re still out there!” the trainee yelped, looking like he was about to empty the contents of his stomach. The Don smacked the boy across the back of the head.

“Get a damn grip, kid. Carmine Falcone doesn’t go down this easy,” he spat, pulling a gun from the holster on his belt. “You got anything to defend yourself with?”

“N-No, Mr. Falcone, sir – you only let me clean the place back in Bludhaven, you know? D-Doing the laundry and stuff.”

“Here,” Carmine tossed the kid the second gun from the other side of his holster. “You know how to use one of those?”

“Uh, I’ve seen it on TV and stuff. Like this, right?”

It happened fast – the boy loosed two bullets from the firearm with the ease and skill of someone who had done it numerous times, the projectiles landing in either of Carmine’s upper legs. The Don roared in pain and collapsed, blood spilling all over the white marble floor and staining it dramatically.

“Geez, old man, you really _have_ been gone too long, eh?” the boy kicked the gun from Falcone’s hand, sending it skidding across the floor towards the stairs. “You’ve lost your touch. I thought I’d have to play dumb a lot longer than this.”

“You sonuvabitch,” Carmine managed to growl, the pain in his legs very quickly beginning to consume all forms of concentration and any trains of thought. “I rescue you from those jailors, from that damned Nightwing, and _this_ is how you repay me?!”

“You pulled me out of a jail cell and had me wash your dishes and underwear for a year. Let’s not give ourselves _too_ much credit, Carmine. Besides, my _real_ boss? She takes me a lot more seriously than you ever did,” the boy laughed, waltzing over to the front door and opening it. “Hey! I got him! Old sucker went down _real_ fast!”

A group of men in sharp suits entered the residence – a particularly large one stood at the head of this group, with a rounded face and a strangely kind smile on his face. He crouched down beside the Don’s incapacitated form.

“Hey there, Carmine!” he started, as if he were meeting a treasured old friend. “Long time no see! We’ve been waiting for you to come back, you know? Got us a little worried for a while! Isn’t that right, boys?”

The rest of the men laughed uproariously, including the turncoat youth, who stood in the midst of a gaggle of them. _His_ bodyguards. Like the ones Falcone had had up until about four minutes ago.

“He looks confused, boys – don’t tell me you don’t remember your old pal Butch?”

Butch. Butch Gilzean. It had been years since Carmine had seen him, let alone worked with him. He was just a soldier, working for one of his former lieutenants. And she... she was dead. He’d thrown her in the harbour for attempting to overthrow him. But the boy had said his boss was a woman.

It had to be someone else. It _couldn’t_ be her.

“The boss is gonna be real happy to see you again – just like old times! Get the ol’ _familia_ back together, yeah? Just like before the Bat was around,” Butch continued, lifting Carmine up by the back of his suit collar. “And now that he’s gone... maybe it can be like that again – with a few changes, of course. Can’t have things gettin’ stale. See, you’re not gonna be in charge anymore, pal. Your family are scattered – hell, a bunch of ‘em are dead already – and your weaponries and bases? Long gone.”

“Enough talking, Gilzean,” Falcone wheezed, anger in his weak voice. “Who sent you? Who is the woman who will soon regret laying her lackeys on the Roman?”

“Geez, you don’t know? You forgot the name of, by _far_ , your greatest lieutenant?”

“She’s _dead_.”

“Pal, you’ve _gotta_ have someone do follow up work in future,” Butch chuckled. “You can’t drown a _Fish_.”

 

 

Police tape circled the entirety of the remains of Wayne Manor, as well as boards that covered the railings, covered in KEEP OUT signage. But if there was one person destined to never, ever obey these kinds of signs, it was Jason Todd. Robin or Red Hood, it didn’t matter.

He leapt over the fence with ease, but the sight of the ruined building he once called home made his stomach twist into a knot, and he could almost feel his psyche dip and darken. Man. Seeing it in person, up close made it sink in more, made it feel more real. This place was really gone. It wasn’t just damaged. It couldn’t be repaired over a few months.

It was levelled. Unsalvageable.

{“ _Jason? Can you hear me?_ ”} Barbara’s voice came through on a communicator.

“Yeah, red. Loud and clear.”

{“ _Good. It’s... nice being Oracle for someone again,_ ”} Jason heard her clear her throat. {“ _The signals from the computer in the Batcave are weak – on and off, on the fritz – but they’re there. Something might be salvageable, something that could aid all of us in looking after the city now._ ”}

“Sure hope so. Tim isn’t sharing his toys, even though we all know he’s hiding out somewhere with a buncha computers,” the Red Hood rolled his eyes as he spoke. “Said I’m a bull in china shop and would break all his stuff. Always such a social charmer, that Tim.”

Barbara laughed.

{“ _Give him time. Push might come to shove. In the meantime, let’s see if we can dig up a few toys of our own. Head about twenty seven metres north to the edges of the rubble and I’ll do my best to guide you to whatever’s left of the elevator shaft._ ”}

“Suuuure you don’t just wanna try locate Tim’s place so we can rub our dirty hands all over it?”

{“ _Believe me, I’d love to. He’s gotten good, though – I can’t find any trace of his ‘Nest’. Yet._ ”}

Jason kicked aside a piece of debris as he made his way over to where Barbara had instructed. He could almost make out where each of the ground floor rooms used to be, underneath piles of rubble from the upper floors.  
The foyer was right in front of him. Living room was to the left. Library was to the right. If he walked forward a couple dozen paces, he’d be face to face with the huge portrait of Bruce and his parents that hung near the staircase.

{“ _—Jason? Are you listening to me?_ ”}

“Wha? Oh, sorry, I just...” he carefully fingered a very scorched photograph of Bruce and a very young looking Dick, who was sitting on his lap. “switched off for a second. What were you saying?”

{“ _I said just keep walking straight until I say so. You’re pretty close, actually._ ”}

Of course he was – the elevator was underneath the horseshoe styled staircase, and as he had already figured out, he was only a couple dozen paces from said staircase.  
Although the walk was slightly less straightforward when it was covered with entire upper floors worth of rubble.

“Any plans for how I’m gonna get down whatever’s left of the shaft when there’s an entire manor on top of it?”

{“ _The shaft is narrow enough. Hopefully you won’t have to much too much out of the way – only so much can fit into it._ ”}

“Think you have too much faith in me, red.”

{“ _I think you don’t have enough in yourself... hood._ ”}

The first thing Jason noticed was at least three, huge wooden beams on top of the already sizeable pile of rubble on top of where the elevator shaft _hopefully_ was. It... could be done. It would just be a helluva lot of work.

“Okaaaay,” he rolled up his sleeves and cracked his knuckles. “let’s see how much rubble _faith_ can move outta the way.”

 

 

He remembered his wrists being bound and a sack being pulled over his face. Somebody hoisting his body out of the townhouse and into a car.

It all blurred after that, slipping in and out of consciousness from the pain of his gunshot wounds, the lights he could see through the sack sometimes being harsh and at other times, being submerged in complete darkness.

This time, Carmine Falcone woke up when the sack was yanked off of his head – he was bound to a chair in a dark room, a single light overhead only illuminating so much. This space, wherever it was, was huge. He could vaguely make out the shapes of people in his swimming vision.

“Wakey wakey, Carmine,” it was Butch’s voice, thrilled in all of the worst ways. “Old friend wants to say hello.”

“Now now, Butch – this man was one of the most successful crime lords in Gotham’s recent history,” a smooth, female voice called from the shadows. “Let’s treat him as such, hm? _Do unto others as you would have them do unto you_. Life’s golden rule. Although...”

A dark skinned woman stepped into the light, her stride confident, dressed loudly in a gold sequined dress and red heels – the colour of which matched a streak in her otherwise stylistically choppy black hair.

“I don’t know how that applies to someone who left you to drown in the harbour,” her smile was the definition of the word sly. “Hello, Carmine.”

“Fish Mooney,” Falcone practically spat the name. “Nobody seems to stay dead in this city for as long as I’d like them to.”

“Oh, dear. Let’s hope the Bat isn’t included in your clearly shoddy batch of luck. That would cause problems for all of us,” Fish said. “Now, you know Butch, right? Of course you do. And you’ve had the privilege to know Lamb for... oh, I don’t know, a year, now?”

The boy he had brought back from Bludhaven gave a lazy wave from where he now stood beside Butch, leaning on the larger man as if he were a wall rather than a person.

“I still can’t believe you had my best undercover guy washing your ties, Carmine. Look at those doe eyes! They’re _made_ for tricking unassuming bozos—oh, I do beg your pardon,” Fish laughed. “Now, I’m sure you’ve heard about Cobblepot being sent to Blackgate, which means that revolting little man’s sweaty grasp on this city is finally relinquished. But why am I telling you this? It’s the reason you came back here, right? Lamb told me that. He told me so, so much, Carmine. That’s how I knew where each and every one of your bases and weaponries were, even the ones far from the reaches of the hell inside of Arkham City.”

“I’m going to gut that boy as soon as Gotham’s reigns are back in the right hands – _mine_ ,” Falcone snapped, burning holes into Lamb’s eyes with his own. “A snitch, Fish? I thought you were better than that.”

“Not a snitch, Carmine – a pretty faced, helpful distraction! And it worked wonders, didn’t it? Nobody suspects the pretty boy.”

“And no mob is stupid enough to keep a snitch in their ranks.”

“Well, he hasn’t snitched on _me_ , has he? You thought I was dead – I’d call that successful secret keeping. But enough talk of him. We’re here to talk about _you_. Carmine Falcone, the Roman, once the king of Gotham. And now? Tied up in an old warehouse at my mercy. As much as I’d love to have you as an ally, you have far too many old friends around here who’d assist your inevitable overthrow attempt in a heartbeat,” Fish wandered into the Don’s personal bubble, levelling her face with his and holding him by the front of his vest. “So what on earth do I do with you, hm? Hand you over to the cops so you and Cobblepot can grow old together in Blackgate? Keep you as a very expensive bargaining chip? Or do I just... throw you in the harbour, with bricks on your feet?”

The rest of the men in the group began to get rowdy, throwing in their two cents.

“In the harbour, boss!”

“Let the old man drown!”

“Naw, naw, Blackgate! That’s where he belongs!”

“Boys, boys, boys! I _adore_ the enthusiasm, but my mind needs quiet to work,” Fish left them all in suspense for a while, enjoying watching beads of sweat form on Falcone’s forehead. “Lamb – you’ve known the old geezer for a while now, right? I think he’d make a good _pet_ , don’t you?”

“He’s real quiet after three or so glasses of scotch, boss.” the boy informed her, snickering.

“Butch? Your opinion is always music to my ears, darling.”

“There’s a lotta people in Gotham who’d pay a pretty penny for the Roman – dead or alive. We should keep him, boss.” Butch agreed.

“Then it’s settled, isn’t it? Now – who wants to be the lucky boy who gets to keep watch over our dear old friend first?”

As Fish’s men each roared their enthusiasm from their shadowed places, a feeling that had not wriggled its way into Carmine Falcone’s head for a long time returned to unpack its bags and move in:

Fear.

 

 

The sky was a deep orange colour when – after heaving the three beams out of the way, digging rubble out with both his bare hands and a makeshift ‘shovel’ (a former piece of the staircase), kicking pieces of granite out of the way whilst halfway down the cramped elevator shaft and getting _lodged_ in said elevator shaft amongst the debris for at least fifteen minutes (“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe I’m going to die stuck in the goddamn elevator shaft.”  
{“ _Calm down, Jason – I can send Tim to pull you out._ ”}  
“No way in hell. He’ll never let me forget it if you do that.”) – Jason finally slid out of the elevator shaft and into the relievingly open area of the Batcave, which, aside from new layers of dust and cobwebs, looked like it hadn’t suffered much since the destruction of Wayne Manor.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he said, voice soft, before reporting to Barbara. “I finally made it in. How long was that?”

{“ _Five hours and thirteen minutes._ ”}

“Not too shabby at all.”

{“ _How’s it look in there? Salvageable?_ ”}

“It looks really good, actually. Place has been changed since I was last here.” Jason replied, making his way up the metal staircase and passing the medical area. There was a lot of shattered glass, spilled medicines and equipment on the floor, but it looked okay otherwise. Even the x-ray machine had made it through the explosions.

He continued up the next set of steps to where – remarkably – the Batcomputer remained, a quiet humming suggesting the power was still on, although the screens were all black. On the highest section of the cave, the Batwing pad was unoccupied.  
But there was something else up there, tucked in against the back wall, lit up.

“The computer’s still running,” he began to ascend the stairs in curiosity. “but the screens are all off. Pretty sure you or Tim can probably fix that problem.”

{“ _The Batcomputer’s still running? That’s amazing! There’s so much data in there that’ll be useful to us whilst we come to terms with... all of this. Anything else to report?_ ”}

Jason didn’t reply.

{“ _Jason? Hello? Are you daydreaming again?_ ”}

Another silence.

{“ _Jason? Are you there? Jaso—?_ ”}

He shut off his communicator, walking slowly over to the object that had caught his eye previously, each step feeling heavy and difficult to make. It was too quiet in here without Barbara in his ear, but at the same time, he couldn’t handle talking to her right now.  
His fingers pressed up against the backlit glass before him. A display case. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from what was inside. His insides were tightening up inside of him, coiling into a horrible numbness, pushing something up, up, up and out.

His Robin costume.

It had been here. In the Batcave, all this time, close to Batman. Close to Bruce. He’d never forgotten about him. He’d never _let_ himself forget about him.

_You’re Robin, Jason._

His fingers balled into a fist, and he squeezed his eyes shut as tears began to spill from his eyes. He felt his legs give underneath him, and his knees slammed into the ground, making him cry out in pain – both the physical and emotional sense.

_You’re not what he made you!_

He never forgot. He _never_ forgot. He had never abandoned him, never replaced him with Tim. No. Jason’s ‘death’ had haunted Bruce for years. It had very nearly haunted him until his death. What if Bruce had died without knowing that Jason was alive? No. What if Bruce had died without Jason knowing that he had never, ever forgotten him?

Oh God.

Bruce _had_ died without Jason knowing he had never forgotten about him. Here he was, finding out mere weeks too late. Too late to forgive. Too late to wail candidly, horribly to Bruce’s face instead of here, alone, before an encased icon of pain and regret.

All he could do was be someone Bruce could be proud of. But Bruce had always _been_ proud of him, despite their scraps and differing mindsets, the constant rule breaking and scolding.  
He’d tried to _kill_ him, and Bruce still did nothing but try and build him back up from the broken mess that the Joker had made him.

Bruce had loved him, unconditionally, like a father. He had mourned his death just like any father would. And now, here Jason was, taking his turn at this horrible experience.

“I’m not... what the Joker made me,” his voice was gravelled with sorrow. “I’m what _you_ made me. I’m going to keep going, Bruce. I’m gonna be the best person that I can be.”

After a few minutes pause, he finally got back on to his feet, form pressed against the class of the display case, where he remained a little while longer.

“I’m... gonna be someone we can _both_ be proud of.”

Jason turned away, took a shuddering breath to steady himself, and re-activated communications with Barbara.


	3. The Blud of the Lamb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't need anybody's help. He was just as good as everybody who had ever felt sorry for him, and he'd prove it.
> 
> In which we discover that Carmine isn't the only person in Bludhaven that Dick had failed to catch.

_“This is the third night I’ve found you here, kid. I can’t keep letting you off, you know? At some point, I’ll have to call the cops – or worse, they’ll find this place anyway and you’ll get arrested.”_

_Bludhaven’s corners and alleyways were crawling with gang violence, prostitution, and sometimes the unhappy combination of the two. The city was a cesspool of corruption that easily rivalled Gotham in its earlier years._   
_It was overwhelming, at times – on particularly low days, Dick sometimes thought that Nightwing wasn’t enough for this hell on earth – but as long as he made a difference to at least some people, and maybe helped shepherd others away from bad paths, it might cause a sort of butterfly effect._

_Like now._

_“Really? The last thing the cops in this place are gonna do is put me behind bars. They’ll just use me as an excuse to try the flavours of these wonderful city corners, if you get what I mean.”_

_“I can help you. Please.” Dick extended a hand to the boy leaning against the brick wall. He looked young – couldn’t have been older than Tim – blonde curls matted and dirty in places, skin pale, with dramatically contrasting dark circles under his eyes._

_The boy frowned._

_“What, you think you’re better than me or something, mister? ‘Cause you’re a Batman wannabe, and I’m just a—”_

_“You don’t have to—”_

_“Drug using rent boy, right? I’m just another figure for you to clean up and make this city all better. You don’t even know my name. Just keep coming back each night, like a spandex suited john or something.”_

_“I just want to make sure you’re... okay, you know? I only want to help, I promise. You can be so much more than this, you know?” Dick took a gentle step closer, not wanting the kid to bolt off like he had done before. “Can I have your name, at least?”_

_The boy stared him down, baby blue eyes doing their best attempt at ‘mean’._

_“Everyone calls me Lamb. I guess you can too.”_

 

 

“I figured I should actually call, you know, the grown up of the group. The man among the boys,” Selina teased, though a sad smile ghosted her features. “Is this like two-timing for you? Running off to your secret lover Gotham, when you should be in Bludhaven?”

“... Uhm, if you wanna put it like that,” Dick cleared his throat awkwardly. “I’m just visiting more often to keep an eye on Robin and Red Hood.”

The two of them sat, in costume, on the rooftop of Selina’s apartment. The night air was crisp but not unpleasantly cold, the city lit up in oranges and yellows from lights covering buildings and emanating from lampposts, the pollution of which rendered the clear night sky moot.   
No stars. It had been this way for ages in Gotham, now. The stars simply weren’t seen anymore. Both of them knew there was probably some sort of metaphor that could be made of this observation, but had neither the patience nor mind for it.

“People have been talking. Carmine Falcone, back in Gotham.”

“Falcone? Damnit,” Dick sighed. “He was hiding out in Bludhaven, I’m sure of it. I always heard rumours, but... his guys are good. I could never lay hands on the guy. Came close one time, but that’s it. Now he’s back _here_ , when I should have been able to catch him back _there_.”

“Aw, don’t be so hard on yourself, junior. Carmine’s a tough son of a bitch. Even Bruce had a lot of trouble with him.”

“Gotham’s a whole new playing ground now. It’s gonna be harder to catch him.”

“You’re talking about this place being changed up like it’s a _bad_ thing for you,” Selina poked Dick in the chest, smile cunning. “If you have to learn to grapple its walls again, so does everyone else. Even me. Even Falcone. You have the head start here, so if you act fast, you might be able to trip Falcone on the welcome rug.”

Dick had never thought about it like that. The fact that the status quo in Gotham had changed had seemed overwhelming to him because Jason and Tim would have to start from scratch, in a way. But they weren’t the only ones. _Everyone_ needed to start from scratch.

“That Bat. Think he had a bigger impact than everyone realised, huh? Everything’s being sorted into ‘before Batman’ and ‘after Batman’ now,” Catwoman looked to Nightwing, then stood up and stretched. “Hope you’re ready to keep up with it.”

And with that, she was gone – leaping across the rooftops as effortlessly as ever – leaving Dick to process this news on his own.   
Falcone, if given the chance, could easily take this lead and have Gotham under his rule within days. He’d done it before, after all. But Dick found himself a little confused. The Roman had always moved fast, letting Batman know he was back in the city as soon as possible, often in the worst ways.

So why hadn’t he made a move yet?

 

 

Falcone looked up from the seat he was bound to when he heard the door of wherever the hell he was screech open, metal on metal. Sunlight poured through the momentary gap to the outside world before the door was closed again, and the space was plunged back into its familiar near-darkness.

“Heya Carmine,” came Lamb’s voice from the shadows, his body eventually emerging once he stepped under the single light above Falcone’s seat. “How’s it going?”

“What do you want?” the man snapped.

“Aw, don’t snap. We were friends yesterday, remember?”

“And then you turned out to be a _rat_ , yeah. A rat who shot me in the legs.”

The boy unsuccessfully bit back a laugh as he waltzed behind Carmine, placing his hands on the Don’s shoulders.

“I’m here to talk.”

“I’m not telling you anything, _rat_ , so get gone.”

“I don’t like that nickname,” Falcone sucked in a breath when he felt a knife press up against his back. “So let’s try this again. I’m here to talk, about all the friends you might still have crawling around this city.”

“You know, kid, a big part of me’s pissed that you turned out to be working for Fish,” Carmine’s voice dropped to a quiet, strangely friendly tone. “but then there’s the part of me that wished you’d stuck it out with me. I would’ve had Gotham on its knees in a matter of days if it hadn’t been for Fish. For you. You could’ve had it all.”

The knife pressed in deeper, but he wasn’t deterred.

“Fish doesn’t know this city like I do, kid. She only wants it to get back at me, but I actually love this city. I know its nooks and its crannies, who bends quickly and who needs to be broken. I know where to place my bases—”

“Shut up—”

“—and how to spot its valuable allies from the ones that will stab you in the back.”

“I will _literally_ stab you in the back if you don’t shut up and start saying the shit I want to hear!” Lamb exclaimed, voice shrill.

“You can be so much more than this.”

Lamb kicked the chair over from behind – Falcone’s knees slammed into the ground and he roared in pain – before climbing atop the Don’s back and holding the knife to his neck.

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you? You’ve always thought that – pulling me outta the hands of the cops and leaving me to wash your clothes. I was at the bottom of your damn chain of command, and now you’re being all sweet because I turned out to be better than you thought,” he whispered, dark and dreadful, into Carmine’s ear. “Fish didn’t feel sorry for me. She never said that I needed help. She saw a talent she could use—”

Falcone cried out – Lamb was dragging the knife down one of his shoulders, biting his lip and smiling.

“—and oh, I am _such_ a talent, Carmine. Talented enough to fool you,” he yanked the Don’s head up by his hair. “so _start talking_.”

 

 

_“I know you’re there, Nightboy. Might as well come out.”_

_Dick leapt down from the rooftops and landed before Lamb as gracefully as always._

_“It’s Night **wing** ,” he stood at his full height from his landing position. “I got you something. Here.”_

_Lamb inspected the paper bag being held out to him carefully. It could be a trap. What if there was some sort of knockout gas inside? And then this Batman wannabe would drag him back to the police station, cuffs and all, and finally be free of the burden of him._

_“... It’s IHOP. You know. Pancakes.”_

_Lamb frowned._

_“What? You think I can’t buy my own food?”_

_“I didn’t say that. I just brought you pancakes because I was passing there on my way to see you.”_

_The boy snatched the bag from Dick and looked inside. Just pancakes. Huh._

_“Why are you doing this?” despite his suspicion, Lamb began eating the pancakes from the bag with his hands. “What’s in it for you? These aren’t laced with something, are they?”_

_“There’s nothing in it for me, really,” Dick shrugged. “And the only thing they’re laced with is chocolate chips.”_

_“Swell. Seeya later, then.”_

_“Wait! Come on, don’t go just yet—”_

_Dick reached out to touch the boy’s shoulder and just about avoided the knife that was pulled on him in return._

_“I don’t want your help. You just said there’s nothing in this for you,” Lamb’s voice was serious. “So start acting like it.”_

_He watched the costumed hero retract his hand, face shocked and a little hurt._

_“I’ll be back tomorrow night.”_

_“Sure.”_

 

 

“So good to see you, Master Richard. Would you like something to drink?” Alfred asked Dick.

“I’ll have an iced tea, Alfred,” he smiled warmly. “How have things been here?”

“As well as you can imagine with Masters Timothy and Jason living in smaller quarters,” the butler replied, which made Dick belly laugh. “We are all still getting used to the downsize, but we shall persevere, I’m sure.”

“Gee, thanks Alfred,” Jason narrowed his eyes at Dick. “it’s not my fault Tim is pernickety as hell.”

“You’re misjudging my normal standards because of your terrible ones, Jay,” Tim fired back, then smiled at the eldest ‘brother’ of the group. “Nice to see you, Dick. You said you had news for us?”

“Yeah, I do. Not good news, sadly, but the fact I got it so early gives us the upper hand. It’s Falcone. He’s back in Gotham.”

“Shit, really? How’d you hear?” Jason asked.

“The Cat told me. Said she’s heard people talking.”

“I thought Falcone’s group were killed in Arkham City,” Tim said. “after that messy ‘allegiance’ dinner with the Maronis.”

“There were always rumours going around Bludhaven that he was hiding out there, but I never got my hands on him. Sorry about that.”

“Whatever – we can all work together, get him now and you can consider your mistake made up for, yeah?” Jason clapped Dick’s shoulder.

“We’ll go through the Batcomputer, see what connections Falcone still has in the city. Double check with Barbara,” Tim added. “If he really is here, let’s get him while he thinks he has nobody to fear.”

“... Wait – the Batcomputer? Did you reprogram the database into a different system or something?” Dick asked incredulously.

“Barbara got Jason to dig it up.”

“Single handedly, because Tim won’t let me in his damn Nest.”

“I have my reasons, and I’m sticking to them.”

“... You went through all of that rubble? So the Batcave is—?”

“Pretty much completely fine,” Jason kicked the floor absentmindedly. “Everything’s safe. All the precious... things.”

Dick could tell that there was more to it than Jason was letting on, but he decided to leave it alone for now. Maybe later, if they got a moment alone.

“I’ll head to my Nest and check through my own databases – you two can head to the Batcave and I’ll radio you to guide you through the databanks there.” Tim explained.

“Oh, come _on_ – we know how to use the _computer_ , Tim.” Jason moaned. “

Oh yeah, I know you can use it. I’m gonna tell you how to _really_ use it.”

 

 

“Falcone has handed over his empire to me. I am the one you will be answering to now.”

Fish Mooney, along with Butch and Lamb, sat in an immaculate oak office in upper-class Gotham that belonged to Marlon Skeevers – a heavily tanned man with slicked black hair, a finely pressed suit and caricature-esque moustache – who was flanked by four of his own men, all rather broad and wearing their holsters outside of their jackets on purpose.

“So I s’pose you told Falcone you’ve been alive ‘dis whole time, then?” Marlon asked, a thin eyebrow raised. “He still hidin’ out in Bludhaven?”

“Oh, no. He returned last night.”

“So why’s he not here tellin’ me ‘dis, eh? And why’d he give it to you, when he coulda given it to me – a man who’s never tried to betray him?” Skeevers’ tone was accusing. “Smells fishy to me, which is pretty appropriate.”

The men at his sides all laughed quietly at the joke. Fish was not amused.

“He’s _tied up_ with something else, unfortunately. So here I am, rather humbly presenting myself to you and asking for your continued allegiance.”

“You’re serious? I got no damn reason to believe a word you’re sayin’, Fish,” Marlon waved her away. “Come back when you’ve got proof.”

“Oh, but I _do_. Lamb?”

Lamb placed a small gift box on Skeevers’ desk, sliding it over to him. The crime boss eyed it with suspicion but lifted the lid off of it—

“What the hell is this?!”

It was a bloodied finger. It was _Falcone’s_ bloodied finger, with his favourite chrome ring still on it. Before he could comment further, Butch had pulled out a gun and shot two of his bodyguards, whilst Fish took care of the the other two. She then placed the muzzle of her gun against Marlon’s forehead.

“Everything that Falcone owns belongs to me now. His people, his remaining bases, and every single one of his limbs,” she hissed. “You can continue to be an ally, or be crushed under my heel as an enemy. What’s it going to be, Skeevers?”

“No, puh-please don’t kill me, Fish!” the man yelped, tears streaming down his face. “I sw-swear, I swear I won’t ‘cause you no trouble, I p-promise!”

“It’s so amusing to see how a man changes when there’s a gun against his head,” Fish commented with a smirk. “But how do I know you’ll behave once I take it away, hm?”

“Maybe he could do with a little less _hands on_ work, boss.” Butch suggested, making Marlon pale dramatically.

“No! No no no no no, I’ll be loyal, I’ll be good! Please! Mercy, please!” he shrieked. “I’ll help you, I swear, I swear!”

“Hm.”

Fish let it drag out for another three minutes in silence before she finally pulled her gun away. At this point, Skeevers was shaking, sobbing mess.

“I think I’ve proven my point. Haven’t I?”

“Y-Y-Yes!”

“Wonderful. I do look forward to working with you, Skeevers. Just like old times,” Fish tucked her gun away into her dress. “We’re done here. Let’s go.”

“We not taking the ‘present’, boss?” Lamb asked.

“No. Let him keep it as a reminder, should he ever think about betraying me.”

The three left the office, Butch making sure to shoot Marlon a mean look before closing the door behind him. The crime boss was left alone with the dead bodies of his men, the finger of his former boss and a layer of sweat on his face that he wiped away with a handkerchief.   
Hands shaking, he picked up the phone on his desk and dialled a number, then tried to control his breathing whilst he waited for the other end to pick up.

“Enrico? It’s Marlon – we need to get everyone together _now_. It’s serious. We have a problem.”

 

 

“There’s a _lot_ of these guys.”

Jason and Dick stared up at the ‘family’ tree of Falcone’s connections displayed on the Batcomputer’s largest screen. Some names were crossed out, others had question marks beside them. A guide below explained even more symbols that dotted the tree, explaining that some were in the asylum, some in Blackgate, and others were believed hiding out in other cities.

Falcone’s name carried this symbol. Dick sighed and deleted it.

{“ _The Gazzos and Vitis fled to Metropolis and Chicago, respectively, once Arkham City was coming to fruition,_ ”} Tim explained over the radio. {“ _I don’t know if they’ll come back now that Falcone’s returned, but we can count them out for now._ ”}

“And the Maroni family are pretty much non-existent at this point.” Jason added.

“So that leaves the Sullivans, Sabatinos, Skeevers’, Inzerillos and Rileys,” Dick listed off the groups left that weren’t in jail or the asylum. “And they’re only _Falcone’s_ allies. There’s still a lot more gangs in this city who might try and get lucky.”

“So let’s show them what happens to those who wanna try.” Jason said, cracking his knuckles.

{“ _I’ll double check my mappings with Barbara and see how many bases are left after Arkham City got destroyed. A lot of these guys were based in the areas of Amusement Mile that got hit the hardest, but I’m sure they’ve probably set up shop elsewhere,_ ”} Tim said. {“ _Give me about ten minutes._ ”}

“Perfect. Thanks, Tim.”

{“ _No problem._ ”}

The radio went quiet. Dick looked to Jason expectantly, which pulled the younger boy’s expression into one of confusion.

“What?”

“You need to talk about anything?”

“Uh... no?”

“You were off earlier. When you were talking about digging up the entrance to this place.”

“Oh,” Jason shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes darting back to the Batcomputer screen. “Don’t worry about it.”

“C’mon, Jay. We’re brothers. You can’t give Tim hell for keeping secrets and then do the very same thing to me.”

Jason considered this for a few moments, and then laxly pointed a thumb in the direction of the display case on the section above them.

“Yesterday was my first time in here since...” he trailed off, but it wasn’t like Dick needed to be told anything else. After all, he had lived through it.

“We can move it, if you want.”

“No. I... it’s important. Leave it here, I’ll just,” a shrug. “learn to deal with it.”

Dick nodded, squeezing Jason’s shoulder and giving him a smile.

“He’d be proud of you, Jay. He always was.”

A crack appeared in Jason’s bravado, his eyes going to his own feet and the smallest of smiles gracing his features.

“Yeah. Thanks, Dick.”

 

 

_“Who taught you how to use a knife?”_

_“I did.”_

_“Really? You’re pretty good. Almost got me yesterday.”_

_Lamb gave Dick a half smile from where he was sitting on the ground, nursing a cup of hot cocoa that the hero had brought for him. It was cold in Bludhaven that night – Dick could see the goose bumps on the boy’s arms – and Lamb was nestled in a back alley between garbage cans, using them as some sort of wind breaker from the chill._

_But he hadn’t been as aggressive with Dick as he normally was. Maybe he could persuade the boy to let him help him tonight. Hopefully._

_“Nobody’s around tonight,” Lamb mentioned. “It’s strange. Quiet.”_

_“Maybe it’s too cold for your... uh, clientele?”_

_“Not them. The others. The ones working.”_

_Huh. That **was** weird. Bludhaven’s prostitution problem was overwhelming, and the police didn’t tend to do much to fix it. _

_“We could look for them, if you want,” Dick suggested. “You and me.”_

_He held out his hand to Lamb, who stared at it like it was some foreign object for a minute or two before shrugging and taking it, pulling himself off of the ground and brushing down his very worn jeans._   
_Exiting the alleyway really confirmed the unsettling silence that hung over the area, and Dick could sense Lamb’s unease, watching the boy’s eyes dart around the area in an unnerved fashion. He didn’t show it as obviously, but Dick couldn’t help being a little nervous, too. This part of the city was always alive with the worst kinds of sound. What the hell had happened?_

_“Stay close,” he told Lamb in an undertone. “I don’t like this.”_

_“That’s reassuring.”_

_“I’m being serious.”_

_It was then that three police cars screeched around the corner, sirens only being turned on as soon as both Dick and Lamb had come into their sights. Officers began to pile out of the cars, but Dick pulled Lamb back when the boy went to run._

_“Wait. Let me handle this. You run and they’ll **know** you’re guilty of something.” he whispered to the wriggling youth in his grasp. _

_“Outta the way, Batfreak,” one of the officers snapped. “I needa have a word with the brat behind you.”_

_“Nightwing,” Dick corrected the cop. “I’m bringing him in, officer. No need to bother yourself with it.”_

_“You don’t got the cuffs or the right to arrest anybody, ‘Nightwing’, so hand him over.”_

_“Look, just let me bring him— **aagh**!” _

_Dick held his now bleeding hand to his chest and watched Lamb bolt down the street, now with at least five cops on his tail._

_“Goddamnit..!” he tried to push away the pain, taking off after the group. “Lamb!”_

_“Halt! Halt or we’ll open fire, kid!” an officer yelled._

_Lamb wasn’t listening to anything they were saying, threat or otherwise. There was no way he could afford to get caught now. He hadn’t found Falcone yet. Fish had said he was in the city._   
_He was so close, so close._

_Gunfire erupted from behind him, bullets lodging into trashcans, walls and lampposts. Evidently, the cops had tired of playing nice. He needed to get somewhere with less open space._   
_He took a hard left and dashed down a busier street, dodging between people and making his way into an expensive looking restaurant._

_“Can I help you, young man—?”_

_The greeter was shoved out of the way as Lamb ran through the reception area and into the dining area. The back door. If he could get into the kitchen and out to the alleyways, he’d have a better chance of losing them – both the cops and Nightwing. Patrons shrieked as they were pushed out of the way and had their tables ran across, cutlery, crockery and food scattering everywhere._

_Dick had managed to arrive in the restaurant before the cops, thankfully, and located the shaken greeter on the floor._

_“I’m looking for a kid. Blonde curls, uh, probably running. Have you seen him?”_

_The man just pointed towards the dining room whilst trying to comprehend what had actually happened. Dick nodded, gave him an apologetic smile and continued the chase just as the cops had arrived behind him._

_“There he is! Get him!”_

_Dick dodged the still shrieking patrons and heard more gunfire behind him. Crap. Crap crap crap._

_“What the hell?! You can’t be in here!” a cook cried as Lamb leapt across the stainless steel countertops in the kitchen. “Why does this always happen..!?”_

_The back door was open. Thank God. Someone must have been taking a smoke break._

_“Lamb!” Dick called from the entrance to the kitchen, making the boy pause a moment. “Stop! You have to let me help you!”_

_It looked like he had gotten through to him for a moment, but then the sound of gunfire finally carried through from the dining room to the kitchen and Lamb dashed out the back door into the alleyways._   
_By the time Dick had gotten outside, there was no trace of the boy. He scaled the building and climbed on to the roof – it would help him lose the cops – so that he could see the network of back alleys a little better, but he couldn’t see Lamb, or any sign that of a path he might have taken anywhere._

_That was because Lamb had been yanked into a black car the second he had emerged on to another street from the alleyway._

_“Don’t worry, kid. You’re safe now.”_

_Lamb looked up at the man who had apparently saved his skin, eyes wide, trying not to look too damn pleased with how things had worked out for him._

_“Th-Thank you, mister.” “No problem. Saw you being chased by the cops and one of those costumed freaks and figured you could use a hand,” the man continued, lighting a cigar. “I’ve seen you around, kid, on the streets. You can’t go back there, though. Cops’ll be all over you, as well as that Nightwing.”_

_“Then where will I go? I don’t... have a place to go home to.”_

_“Well, luckily for you, kid, I’ve been looking for some people to work for me. I lost a lot of my own people back in my home city and need to rebuild my numbers. It wouldn’t be anything you can’t manage – laundry, making drinks, tidying the place up – just little odd jobs. How’s it sound?”_

_“I couldn’t. You’ve already done enough for me, mister.”_

_“Don’t worry about it. Consider the work repayment for this. Okay?”_

_Lamb merely nodded, taking the man’s hand in both of his own._

_“Thank you, mister, thank you so much.”_

_“Like I said, don’t worry about it,” Carmine Falcone ruffled the boy’s hair. “Now that you’re with me, nobody’s gonna bother you ever again.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do so many chase scenes take place in restaurants? Who knows. 
> 
> Now that Tim, Jason and Dick have kind of each had their own centric chapter, the next chapter might have jumps between the POVs of all three of them. Lawd. This storyline'll be concluded, but probably not in the next chapter. It's gonna be kind of building behind the scenes. In the meantime, we'll get our first 'villain of the week' type thing!
> 
> As always, you can send thoughts, joys and/or outrages to me on tumblr: bowdowntomama.tumblr.com
> 
> (I promise Selina will be making another appearance. She deserves it.)


	4. Wrath of the Valkyrie, Pt. I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am the answer to Gotham’s problem. I am the one who will make sure that every man who lays his hands upon a woman against her will watch his own blood spill on to the concrete.
> 
> I am the Valkyrie. I am the one who decides who dies.”
> 
> As is wont to happen in Gotham, a vigilante tries to take justice into their own hands. Jason and Tim are finally put to the test to see if they are worthy of continuing Bruce's work.

“Yeah. I’m heading home now... I’m just at the bar like, five blocks from the apartment, I’ll be right there... oh, totally, I’d love some carbonara. Yeah! See you in a few minutes.”

The woman ended the call, shoved her phone in her pocket and resumed the Lana Del Rey that was paused on her iPod. Gotham’s night air was strangely warm, and the streets strangely quiet for a city that was so often alive with the sounds of unpleasantries. Her heels click-clacked along the pavement, and she hummed each song quietly to herself whilst she made her way home.

And there was someone following her.

The man tailed her for nearly three blocks without her noticing at all, getting closer and closer until he yanked her back by her ponytail, eliciting a screech which he muffled by covering her mouth with a gloved hand, and dragged her into a back alley. She fought him every step of the way, legs thrashing and arms desperately trying to hit any piece of him to no avail.

“Calm down, girlie,” he rasped, pushing her down on to the ground and holding a knife to her neck. “You wriggle around anymore and I’ll cut your pretty throat.”

Her desperate pleas and sobbing were muffled as his hand was still on her mouth. He moved the knife from her throat and used it to slice open the back of her dress, sighing happily at the sight of her exposed skin.

“Such a pretty girlie, you are. Maybe I won’t have to kill you after a—”

The hideous man suddenly made a pained, choking sound and his grip on the woman loosened. As much as she wanted to bolt away that very moment, she was too afraid to move. Too afraid to find out what had just happened behind her. All she could do was weep with fright, listening to her attacker’s body fall to the ground and a death rattle come from his throat.

“You are safe,” came a delicate voice. “He will never touch you, nor anyone, ever again. On your feet, now, come on.”

She was hoisted up by a pair of strong arms, which then draped a blanket around her body whilst the same voice began humming gently. The woman gathered the courage to finally steal a glance at her supposed saviour and gasped quietly.

It was a huge woman, wearing a bejewelled cloth headdress that covered her eyes, a ruffled jacket with shoulder pads and gladiator sandals. Her rounded body was only otherwise covered by what looked like a sporting bra and large reinforced lyrca briefs, and in one hand she held a bloodied cane with a blade at one end.

“Who... who are you?” she managed to ask, her voice shaking.

“I am the answer to Gotham’s problem. I am the one who will make sure that every man who lays his hands upon a woman against her will watch his own blood spill on to the concrete.

I am the Valkyrie. I am the one who decides who dies.”

 

 

{“ _He’s been identified as John Fillers, twenty-eight years old, serial rapist. Found in an alleyway a few blocks from The Chimney Sweep, a bar in the north of the city. Single, fatal stab wound._ ”} Barbara told Jason and Tim, who were in the Batcave receiving all of the information on the Batcomputer.

Now that they were using the space properly again, Dick had suggested the two fix a ladder into the lift shaft (“You know, so you don’t have to scrape every single limb on rubble when you want to get inside.”). Tim arrived one day to find an old sofa near the Batcomputer, with Jason asleep on it, and decided no, he didn’t want to know how he’d dragged it in there.  
It was slowly but surely becoming their own space. The two Robins had entertained the idea of giving it a new name, but decided against it, in the end. Something had to stay Bruce’s. Might as well be the network of caves under the remains of his family home.

“So? Good riddance.” Jason scoffed.

{“ _I really want to agree with you, but this isn’t the first time this has happened. There’s been about three more cases like this, but they all happened during..._ ”} she cleared her throat. {“ _The past year. Everyone was suitably occupied and not really paying close enough attention._ ”}

“Anything linking the victims?” Tim asked.

{“ _All males charged with attempted sexual assault or rape. Some of them were found guilty, some weren’t. Whoever’s doing this doesn’t seem to be too picky about that part._ ”}

“Once again – good riddance. We should be looking for Falcone.”

{“ _Dick’s looking into that, and **you're** looking into this. As much as we all want to say these guys got what they deserved, we can’t let somebody run around murdering people in the streets and get away with it, **regardless** of our own moral codes,”} _ (Jason rolled his eyes.) _{“Besides, two of those men were deemed not guilty._ ”}

“She’s right, Jay. If we keep letting this happen, every other wannabe criminal will think they can do whatever they want now that Batman’s gone,” Tim said. “We need to set an example.”

“... Pft. Fine, fine – where should we start with this, then?”

{“ _Well, my dad has the woman who was attacked by Fillers last night. She saw this killer, called them her saviour. She’s also their only suspect for his death, so she’s in custody. You could talk to her, maybe?_ ”} Barbara suggested. {“ _There’s also the scene of the crime, and the area in which it happened. Maybe our killer has a hideout around there, it’d be the only way they were able to stop the assault so fast._ ”}

“I’ll go to the station, talk to Gordon and this woman,” Tim piped up. “Jason, you see if you can get anything out of the locals in the north of the city. You’re good at that.”

“You mean I’m good at threatening information out of less than reputable characters?”

“Well, yes.”

“Flattered.”

 

 

“You’re Batman’s... well, you _were_ Batman’s...”

Tim nodded at the woman’s words. He was dressed in full Robin attire, and sat with her in Gordon’s office within the GCPD building. Her head was bowed, hands cuffed, eyes darting between the costumed hero before her and her own feet, and she was chewing her bottom lip. She was still very much so jumpy, frightened that someone else might be back to get her. Tim didn’t blame her.

“Robin, yeah,” he replied, keeping his voice low and easy. “May I have your name?”

“Layla. Layla Bonham.”

“Layla. It’s a nice name,” Tim smiled. “Can you tell me a little about yourself?”

She nodded meekly, shaking blonde locks of hair away from where they had fallen into her face.

“I’m twenty-one, ah, uhm, I’m studying culinary arts at Gotham University and I work as a waitress in a little cafe called Pickerings about a block from the university. Just part-time, though.”

Just nervous. Not lying. All good so far.

“Okay, that’s good. What were you doing in The Chimney Sweep last night?”

“Meeting a friend for drinks. She’s my food lab partner – we were just talking about practical exams and the guys we like and stuff.”

“How often do you meet up like this?”

“M-Maybe once a month? How is this supposed to help? My friend didn’t do this, and I didn’t do it either! That woman was _huge_!”

“Woman?” Tim repeated. “The one who saved you was a woman?”

Layla nodded.

“She was as tall as she was wide, w-with some sort of towel thing over her eyes. She wasn’t wearing a lot – a coat and athletic underwear or something – and she had a walking stick, with a kn-knife in it. She said she was protecting women who were attacked by men,” she finally met the Robin’s gaze. “She saved me. She’s a h-hero.”

Tim had been making notes whilst Layla talked, trying to make out what this woman might have looked like. It sounded... strange, so far.

“You’re sure that’s what she looked like?”

“I swear. I know how it sounds. All the officers thought I was drunk, o-or making it up, but I wasn’t. I know what I saw.”

She seemed very sure about it, despite her nerves and distress. There wasn’t much else Tim could do but take her word for it. They had no witnesses or CCTV near the scene of the crime. Layla was their best shot at finding this woman.

“You said she talked to you. What did she sound like? Did she say anything else aside from what you’ve mentioned?”

“I... I remember thinking her voice was very girlie, like it should have come out of a princess on a cartoon or something. She hummed to me while helping me up and everything. She said she was called the Valkyrie.”

The Valkyrie. Appropriate alias, Tim had to admit, considering the mythos. He made a note to log the name into the Nest’s computers. He’d need to give it to Jason sooner rather than later, too.

“You’ve never heard anyone around the area mention anything like this Valkyrie? Or at the bar?”

“N-No. Even if they had, I wouldn’t have believed them,” Layla laughed bitterly. “Just like the cops don’t believe me, now.”

“Hey. I believe you, and I’m pretty sure the Commissioner does, too.”

“But it’s not your choice or his. It’s a jury’s, unless you manage to find her.”

“I will. Don’t worry.”

The blonde wrung her cuffed hands.

“If... if you do find her, she has to go to jail, huh? Even though she saved me?”

“It’s you or her, Layla. You haven’t done anything wrong. You’re the victim.”

“... Yeah. Right.”

 

 

{“ _... called the Valkyrie, apparently. As tall as she is wide, not wearing much aside from a jacket and wielding a walking stick with a blade on one end._ ”}

“Oh. I’m glad we’re not looking for someone _completely_ ridiculous, then.”

{“ _She wasn’t lying, Jay. She didn’t give off any of the ticks that go with it._ ”}

Jason sat atop a garbage bin within the taped off crime scene (a warning he had chosen to ignore), waiting whilst whatever scanners he could get his hands on inside the Batcave finished processing the area. The easiest way to find these kinds of people was, if they were amateurs, looking for any kind of DNA they had more than likely left at the scene of the crime.

“So what the hell am I asking people? ‘Hey, any chance you’ve seen a gigantic woman with a cane she could kill you with?’”

{“ _... I’m sure you could phrase it more eloquently if you put your mind to it._ ”}

“Look – you can do it your way, and I’ll do it mine. Later, Tim.”

{“ _Jay, don’t screw anyth—_ ”}

Jason cut off communications with a satisfied huff, noting that the scanners hadn’t picked up any stray DNA evidence. They had, however, found a blade indentation in the dirt amongst the concrete, as well as well as glove prints on the ground. Leather.  
He adjusted his in-ear communicator to make contact with Barbara.

{“ _Jason?_ ”}

“Hey, red. I’m assuming Tim’s filled you in on what he’s found out so far?”

{“ _The Valkyrie. Looks like we have a new rogue’s gallery beginning to form already._ ”}

“Juuuust great, right? Anyways, I’m sending you everything the scanners could pick up at the crime scene. Leather prints. You think there’s any chance you could find DNA in ‘em?”

{“ _Leather tends to mix with oils and sweat over time, so let’s hope they’re not new gloves. Anything else?_ ”}

“Yeah – her cane’s blade left a mark in the ground. Might be able to determine who crafted it.”

{“ _Well, I can tell you there’s not many people in this city that can make a weapon like that._ ”}

“So this should be a piece of cake, right?”

{“ _Let’s hope so. I’ll let you know if I find matches for anything._ ”}

“Thanks, red.”

After ending the communication, Jason effortlessly leapt from the bin he was perched on back to the pavement outside of the crime scene, pulling his hood over his helmet and retracing Layla’s steps back to The Chimney Sweep. Maybe he could find something there – with the help of some gentle persuasion, of course.

                                                                                                                          ***

The Chimney Sweep was a purposefully small space, walls a combination of redbrick and cream wallpaper, more sofas than barstools and a shiny hardwood floor. It hardly screamed ‘hangout of gigantic female murderers’ – no, it was moreso a bar mercifully free of stinking regulars that hung around the place from opening to closing time and loud sports fans. It was a millennial’s dream; free wi-fi, cute names for cocktails and all.  
And there was _no way_ Jason was getting in there as the Red Hood without sticking out like a sore thumb. Damnit, this was exactly the kind of place that _Tim_ would blend into effortlessly.

“Alright, Todd,” Jason told himself, hanging around the staff back entrance to the bar. “time for a different approach.”

After carefully concealing his helmet, domino mask and Bat-emblazoned hoodie under a pile of old cafe furniture, he smoothed over his unruly hair to one side and made his way in through the front door. The smell of baked goods hit his nose before any kind of alcohol – the word ‘bar’ had been used very loosely to describe this place, apparently – and every single customer in the place looked up at the door the second he stepped inside.

Jesus. This was slightly unnerving for a cutesy bar.

“Welcome to The Chimney Sweep!” the woman behind the bar chirped in an overly sweet voice, her pigtails bouncing with every step she took towards Jason. “Would you like a menu?”

“Uh, no,” everyone was still staring at him. “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the incident that took place not far from here last night.”

“Oh,” the barkeep’s face immediately fell. “you mean about poor Layla? People have been marching in and out all morning – cops, reporters, detectives of all kinds. Making all of the regulars all antsy.”

Jason’s eyes made a quick sweep of the room. A group of dainty looking ladies with champagne glasses sat around a table covered in what looked like play scripts; in a corner near a television sat four students all huddled around laptops, the rest of their table space taken up by empty coffee cups; those sat on stools by the bar looked like soccer moms, or pageant moms (he couldn’t decide between the two) with glasses of wine.  
These were the regulars? God. Maybe if he had grown up in this area of the city, he wouldn’t be nearly as screwed up as he was now.

“That so?” he asked. “This kind of stuff happen around here often?”

“Ah, I wouldn’t be able to tell you. I only moved here about three months ago,” she paused, then opened the bar flap and gestured for Jason to follow her. “This isn’t really the place to do this, you should come to the back room.”

The back room was through a door to the left of the kitchen, and looked like a small office where all of the financial figures were worked out. Piles of paper littered a desk with a computer and keyboard on it, and humourous inspirational posters adorned the crowded walls.

“Who are you, anyways? You don’t look like a cop.” Pigtails asked, gesturing for Jason to sit in one of the armchairs in the room.

“Undercover.”

“Ohhhh. Wow!”

A mental sigh of relief. He didn’t really know what the hell else to come up with if that hadn’t worked.

“You know Layla?”

“Yeah! She comes around maybe once, twice a month with her friend Kitty according to the boss. They’re project partners in college or something, but I also think, uh,” she dropped her voice even though they were alone. “I think they might be a ‘thing’, if you get me.”

“Dating?”

“Yeah. I mean, they hold hands and look all gooey at each other.”

That was new. Tim hadn’t mentioned getting that out of Layla.

“Layla says the woman who saved her called herself the Valkyrie. Ring any bells?”

“Not really, no – but like I said, I’ve only been in the city for about three months. Maybe one of the regulars might know?”

“Hm. Okay. This Valkyrie’s supposed to be as wide as she is tall. You haven’t served anyone that big recently, have you?”

Pigtails shook her head.

“Sorry. I don’t know how much I can help you. The regulars might have a better idea, though, or maybe one of my co-workers. I could give you a few of their numbers or something?”

“Yeah. ‘S worth a shot.”

After Pigtails had handed him about four or five different (Hello Kitty decorated) post-its with the numbers of the rest of the staff on them, Jason made his way back out into the bar and decided that the champagne ladies would be the first group he talked to. He cleared his throat and received their narrow-eyed attention.

“Excuse me, ladies—”

“We don’t know anything about what happened to Layla,” one of them huffed immediately, arms folded. “It’s the only thing we’ve been asked all morning, and the idea of answering it once again is taxing.”

“Arabella, please. Manners maketh man,” another said, then turning to face Jason. “Apologies. We are the Gotham Women’s Theatre Group committee members, and have been trying to go over opening acts for five different plays all morning. This is normally a quiet space, but with all of this... murder and whatnot, apparently not at the moment.”

“But like I said – the only thing we know about what happened is what you know. Layla was attacked whilst walking home and then the man ended up dead.” Arabella continued.

“Actually, I was hoping to ask about a potential suspect. Someone who might have killed John Fillers who wasn’t Layla.” Jason explained.

“What? They think _Layla_ killed that man?” one of them hooted, then laughing to herself. “This city is truly going to the dogs if that is what the police have come up with.”

“Have you ever heard of a figure called the Valkyrie?”

“Pft. We’re a _theatre_ group, of course we have.”

“No, not _those_ damn ones—” Jason recomposed himself. “Layla told the police that somebody saved her last night from Fillers, somebody who called themselves the Valkyrie. A woman as tall as she is wide, headpiece covered in jewellery wielding a bladed cane as a weapon. Any of that sound familiar?”

“Sounds fantastical, but not like anyone I’ve ever seen.” Hooter replied.

“She sounds like something out of a comic book!” Arabella added.

“Hey – I think I might know what you’re talking about.”

Jason looked over to the group of huddled students and saw one of them waving him over. The theatre ladies exchanged looks whilst watching him leave their table and arrive at the other; the girl who had called to him sat on the outside of the table, and wore her short black hair in even tinier pigtails.

“There’s this blog I’ve been following for a while now. It’s mainly a, uh, a fanfiction type of thing, but sometimes the girl who writes it makes posts about what she’s seen around the city,” the student explained, typing at lightning speed and loading up a new tab on her browser. “like when she spots Catwoman or Riddler and stuff. But she made a post a while ago about this figure she saw that sounds a little like what you’re talking about.”

“Tess, that blog’s all hearsay. He's a cop. You’re wasting his time, and I'm pretty sure it's _illegal_ to waste their time.” another of the students sighed, rolling her eyes but not looking up from her screen.

“No, no, let’s see what this blog has to say.” Jason encouraged Tess, who flushed and nodded.

“Right here. See? She took a photograph, but it’s pretty grainy.”

Jason got down on his hunkers and pored over the photograph. Tess was right – it was very grainy, as well as too dark to see much, but if he concentrated a moment...

“There,” he pointed to a large, shadowed blob near the right corner of the picture. “right?”

“Yeah! Read over the blog entry, too. It helps.”

[ _Tonight, I saw the most mysterious and amazing woman I think I’ve ever seen on these streets! The camera didn’t really do her justice, as it was waaaaay too dark to get a good picture without her seeing me, but she was wearing this amazing bejewelled headpiece and had a walking stick with a knife on it! I saw her beating the crap out of these guys who were trying to rob an old lady – she was seriously strong, batting these guys away like they were flies._  
_Afterwards, she helped the old lady up and gave her back her scattered things. The two of them had a short conversation, but I couldn’t make any of it out. Bummer! I think she may have walked the old lady home, afterwards. Has anybody else seen this big, cool lady? Please tell me I’m not the only one! We need to make a big deal out of her!_ ]

“The police were never told about this, huh?” Jason asked, writing down the URL of the page to pass on to Tim or Babs.

“I mean, if they were, they obviously didn’t take it seriously. But the girl that was attacked last night, you think she was saved by this woman?” Tess asked, to which Jason nodded.

“That’s what she says happened.”

This definitely meant Layla wasn’t bluffing, which was good for her. But they didn’t know the intentions of this Valkyrie yet either. Or where she was. Or who she was.

“Right. You’ve been a lot of help, thanks.”

“No problem! I’m glad I could help. I mean, if you need me again, you’ll probably find me here.” Tess gave a faux-salute.

Jason nodded, then stood back up at full height and exited the bar, reactivating his communicator as soon as he was outside and heading back towards the back alley.

                                                                                                                      ***

“Tim, it’s Jay.”

{“ _Thanks for cutting me off earlier, asshole._ ”}

“No problem – I’ve got some stuff for you. Did Layla mention a college partner when you were talking to her?”

{“ _Yeah. She had just met with her the night she was attacked. Why?_ ”}

“According to the bargirl I talked to, they’re more than friends. They’re dating.”

{“ _Huh. She didn’t say anything like that to me._ ”}

“That’s what I thought,” Jason fished his belongings out from the heap of old furniture he had hidden them in, beginning to put them all back on. “But I got something even better than that. I’m sending you the URL of a blog piece about a sighting of our Valkyrie.”

{“ _Really? Wow, Jay, you’re better at this than I thought_ ,”} Tim made an interested humming noise whilst looking over it. {“ _I’ll try and sharpen this image – but first, I can check the geotag of this in a matter of seconds, send you the location of whoever wrote it. You should talk to them. There might be more they didn’t think of putting in the post._ ”}

“Swell,” the location came in on the map in his helmet. East side of the city. “I’ll head over there.”

{“ _Thanks, Jay. I might talk to Layla again now that we know more. Let me know if you find anything else out, okay?_ ”}

“Sure. See you later.”

Jason smiled to himself underneath his helmet, loosing his line launcher and taking off into the depths of the city. The sooner they wrapped this up, the better – then they could continue looking for Falcone with Dick.  
He was the real threat to Gotham.

 

 

“Layla—? Oh, sorry, I didn’t know—”

Tim stood in the open doorway of the Commissioner’s office, where Layla still sat, but now with the addition of a short haired brunette girl, face covered in freckles and dressed in a baggy t-shirt and shorts.

“Wow. You weren’t lying,” the brunette said, eyes pouring over Tim’s costume. “Robin. You’re really him, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m really him. And you’re..?”

“Kitty Edwards. I was with her last night in The Chimney Sweep before...” a frustrated exhale. “that creep attacked her.”

“You couldn’t have known it was going to happen,” Tim told her softly, then looking to Layla. “Some more information has come up. I was wondering if I could ask you a few more questions.”

“Yeah, o-of course.” the blonde replied.

“Should I go, or..?”

“I think you should stay, Kitty,” the Robin said, pulling a photograph out of a pocket wallet just as Kitty was standing up to leave. “Layla... is this the Valkyrie?”

The photograph had been brightened and sharpened to the extent that what was once a black blob was now visibly a large woman, dressed in a black coat and wearing a headpiece covering her eyes, adorned with chains of jewels. Layla gasped, holding her cuffed hands to her mouth.

“That’s her! That’s the woman who saved me last night, that’s the Valkyrie!” she exclaimed. “Now the police have to let me go, right?”

“Not quite yet. We still need the murder weapon, but this does help your case a great deal.”

“Wow,” Kitty squinted at the image. “who even took this photograph?”

“Before I answer that, I actually wanted to ask you a few questions,” Tim put the photo away, folding his arms. “alone, if that’s alright with you.”

Kitty and Layla exchanged worried looks.

“She didn’t do this! You have a photograph of the Valkyrie now, you know it wasn’t Kitty!” the latter cried. Her friend placed a hand on her shoulder, shushing her.

“It’s okay, Layla. Whatever I need to do to get you outta here, I’ll do it,” Kitty nodded to Tim. “You can ask me whatever you want.”

“It’ll help paint a clearer picture of everything that went on last night, is all. This way, please.”

Tim lead her out of the Commissioner’s office and into a currently empty computer office, closing the door after them. He gestured for her to take a seat on one of the swivel chairs.

“So Layla tells me that you two meet up at The Chimney Sweep once or twice a month, right?”

“Yeah. I mean, I’m there more often than she is. She’s really busy with work.”

“So you’re unemployed, then?”

“Uh-huh. I live with my parents, so it’s not like I have to pay rent like she does.”

“Okay,” Tim paused a moment. “You and Layla. Just food hall partners?”

“No, we’re girlfriends. Did... she not tell you that?”

Oh God. He felt like he’d just waded into sensitive territory.

“She said you were food hall partners, and you met up to talk about exams and the boys you like.”

“What? No, dude, I’m a lesbian. There _are_ no boys I like, not like that, anyway,” a nervous laugh. “I can’t... believe she said that.”

The air was now heavy with an awkward energy, and as important as it might have been to the investigation, Tim was really regretting having brought it up.

“Ah,” he coughed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, uh—”

“It’s fine, dude, don’t worry about it,” that was a lie, and Tim could tell. How had he not been able to tell when Layla had done it, though? “You don’t mind if I go, do you? I mean, I could answer your other stuff later, I’m j-just not really in the mood—”

“Yeah, it’s alright. You’re free to go.”

Tim watched Kitty leave the room, squeezing her eyes open and shut to desperately stop any tears from falling. Damnit. He didn’t mean for something like this to happen.

{“ _Tim? You there?_ ”} Jason’s voice came through his in-ear communicator.

“Yeah, Jay, I hear you. I think I might have messed something up.”

{“ _Really? Your news can’t be bigger than mine._ ”}

“What did you find out? Did that blogger have anything else to tell you?”

{“ _Nooooope. Kind of a communication problem._ ”}

“Really? Was the geotag wrong? It only came from the east side of the city, it can’t have been far off.”

{“ _Oh no, your geotagging was fine. It was the actual blogger herself_ ,”} Tim heard Jason suck in a breath between his teeth. {“ _The police are all over her apartment, Tim. She’s **dead**._ ”}

 

 

{“ _The blood was still warm when the medical team and GCPD got there. It can’t have happened long before they arrived,_ ”} Barbara told the two Robins as details began to show up on the Batcomputer’s screen. {“ _Gunshot wound to the head, so it wasn’t the Valkyrie._ ”}

“She knows we’re looking for her, then. She has to, or somebody who’s close to her knows,” Tim determined, looking to Jason. “It must have been someone at The Chimney Sweep when you were there.”

“Could’a been any of the regulars. There were a group of women from the theatre committee there that were kind of snappy. Wanted me to stop asking questions. Might have been one of them.” he explained.

{“ _The Gotham Women’s Theatre Group committee, right? I can get you a list of names, addresses, all of it – but I have something else for you, too,_ ”} Barbara clapped her hands together. {“ _The leather gloves had enough DNA in them for me to load into the database. I found a match. I found the Valkyrie._ ”}

“Aw, red, you always outdo us,” Jason mock-complained, smiling. “Knew you could do it.”

“Who is it, Barbara? Maybe if we catch her, we can use her as bait to lure this accomplice out of hiding.” Tim asked.

{“ _Abigail Pepperly – arrested in Star City for possessing child pornography, but somebody broke her out and she escaped the city. She must have been hiding out here in Gotham, maybe under a different alias or something. Photo ID is coming through now._ ”}

As soon as Abigail’s face filled up the screen, Jason’s eyes widened.

“Oh come on, you’re _kidding_ me,” he whined. “The fucking bargirl from The Chimney Sweep? _Pigtails_? It was _her_?”

“You talked to her earlier, right? Nothing seemed off about her?” Tim raised an eyebrow. “Kind of vastly different body types, Babs. Just voicing my opinion.”

{“ _A fat suit would double as body armour and a disguise. It’s a clever use of one, really, I’ll give her that much. But it’s time to end her spree before she gets too big for her boots. You think she might still be at The Chimney Sweep?_ ”}

“Probably. We’ll drop in and give her a ‘visit’ around closing time,” Jason clapped Tim on the back (rather hard – the younger Robin winced a little). “In the mean time, let’s go through the members of the theatre group and see if we can pick ourselves out a murderer.”

 

 

“Rather a shame. I liked Tess.”

Arabella fanned her face with a rather pretty ornate fan to keep the stench of blood from her nose, the rest of the theatre group and the soccer/pageant moms from The Chimney Sweep standing around the mangled body of what was once Tess. Blood was smeared all over the concrete that her remains laid upon.

“Well, she opened her trap. I told the university girls to try and keep that brat quiet.” Hooter said matter-of-factly.

“Let us not speak ill of the dead,” the voice of reason of the gaggle stepped forward, looking to the soccer/pageant moms. “I trust you three can take care of this?”

“Oh, no problem, hun. We’re good at dressing these little scenes up, aren’t we, Sharon?” one of them asked another, who nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh? What on earth are you doing here? We were taking care of things, she didn’t need to send you, too.” Hooter huffed at an approaching figure.

“The Valkyrie didn’t send me out here, I came myself,” Kitty told the group. “We have a problem. A big, Robin-shaped problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter is written at least half as well as I hope it is. It's difficult working in a kind of storyline that might keep people guessing - and even if it's not doing that, I hope it's at least entertaining you all.
> 
> Please let me know if you find any blips in there. I'm editing this at 3AM and am understandably not at full working brain capacity.  
> Also: with the slightly darker themes explored in this chapter, do you guys think any sort of warning tags might need to be added to the description? Please let me know! The last thing I would want to do is give someone a nasty surprise.


	5. Wrath of the Valkyrie, Pt. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confronting the Valkyrie drags up far more than Jason and Tim had anticipated.

“Well, it’s been a trying day for all of us – you guys, especially,” Abigail told the remaining members of the student group that frequented The Chimney Sweep, wiping down tables and taking up glasses. “It’s a shame Tess didn’t get to come around to the rules we have here before she, well, bit off more than she could chew.”

“She... was my biology partner...” one of them whimpered, gathering up her computer and shakily putting it into a laptop bag. The three of them looked pale, and wouldn’t meet Abigail’s gaze unless it was absolutely necessary, and even then it would only be held for a second or two.

“This is nasty work, I know – but if we want to ensure The Valkyrie keeps protecting us, we have to make sure nobody finds anything out. No snitches. I don’t care how pretty the cops that come in here are, nobody says anything. Keep that in mind the next time you want to bring some newbie into the group.”

The students nodded before stalking out of the bar. Abigail wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and closed the door behind them, locking it, too.   
Damnit. It had been too close to the bar. Layla was a liability to the group, just like Tess had been. They should have dealt with her instead. But as long as Kitty was around, they probably wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on her girlfriend.

“Stupid.” Abigail whispered to herself. Oh well. Maybe this would all die down soon – as long as they could convince the police that The Chimney Sweep just happened to be a location in this story and had nothing else to do with it.

There was a loud knock on the bar door.

“We’re closed! Come back tomorrow!” she called in sweet voice. But the knocking persisted. “We just closed! We’ll be open tomorrow at 8AM!”

It didn’t stop. Abigail sighed and made her way open to the door, unlocking it and opening it a crack

“I said we’re clo... sed...”

“Hey there,” the Red Hood chirped, purposefully cheery. “I’m not very good at reading signs, or really doing what they ask me to. So—”

He shoved the door open, making Abigail scream and back into a table. Within moments, he had her by the front of her shirt.

“Abigail Pepperly, right? Find it a little ‘pot kettle black’ that you’re killing sexual offenders when you’re hiding out here for child pornography charges, _Valkyrie_ ,” he growled. “That _really_ pisses me off.”

“Wh-wh-what are you talking about?! I don’t know, I-I’m just a b-bargirl, please!”

“Found your gloveprints at the crime scene, matched up the DNA left on them and all. Found out about your escapdes in Star City, you know?”

“I didn’t d-do anything! I swear, please! You don’t g-g-get it!” Abigail wailed, tears streaming down her face. “Let me explain! Please, please!”

“Really? A little birdie told me you’re a good liar. Why should I believe you now?”

“I’ve only been here f-f-for three months! I’m n-not the Valkyrie, I _can’t_ be!”

“Then why is she wearing your gloves? Leather gloves, too – you have to wear those for a while for anything to come off of ‘em,” Jason pulled a gun from one of his holsters, shoving the muzzle under her chin. “ _Talk!_ ”

“I-I-I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything, pl-please! What happened in Star City isn’t wh-what you think! They were photos of _me_!”

The Red Hood’s grip loosened a little with his confusion. Still, he didn’t move his gun.

“... Keep talking.”

“It was about th-three years ago, when I was sixteen. I was interning at this law firm in St-Star City, and I got involved with one of the executives,” Abigail explained, voice wobbling. “He s-s-said if I sent him... if I sent photographs, he’d make sure I got a place when I graduated highschool. So, l-like an idiot, I d-d-did it.   
I didn’t know he’d keep them this long, but when I said I was l-leaving the firm for another o-one in Gotham, he set me up. Put the photos on m-my computer and called the cops. Even though th-they’re photos of me, they were still sexual images of a minor, so I got arrested. I managed to call one of my friends here in the city, to tell her what had happened, you know? And then... that’s when I met her. She showed up th-that night.”

“The Valkyrie?”

“Yeah. She t-told me that sh-she’d make him pay f-f-for what he did, but th-that I had to promise to come with her to Gotham. I said y-yes,” she swallowed hard. “B-By the time I was on a train out of there on the ticket she’d g-given me, there were news reports that he was d-dead. My friend met m-me at the station, had a new identity for me h-here and this job. Th-that’s the truth, I swear, I swear..!”

Jason stared her down through his helmet for a while longer before finally pulling his gun away from her chin and releasing his grip on her shirt. Abigail’s exhale of relief shook her entire body.

“Y-You’re a... Batman?” she pointed to the insignia on his hoodie.

“Not exactly,” he brushed the comment aside. “You need to give up the Valkyrie. People are dying, Abigail – people who haven’t committed the crimes that she kills for. People who don’t use her cane. Somebody’s covering up any tracks she leaves, and they’re sure as hell not throwing blankets over the problems.”

“I _can’t_! You don’t understand, it wasn’t supposed to get this bad! Nobody was supposed to die except the people who deserved it!”

“See, I really get what you’re saying, but if you just keep letting people get killed, it only inspires the people around you to do the same to their enemies. And they’re a lot worse than you. Trust me,” Jason explained, trying to ignore the weird feeling developing in his stomach as he said it. “You can’t kill your problems. You... just can’t.”

“Then what do you propose we do, Batboy?”

He whipped around at the sound of the voice behind him and found himself face-to-face with exactly the person they had been searching for.   
The Valkyrie.   
He had really underestimated the whole ‘as tall as she was wide’ part. It was moreso face-to-chest rather than face-to-face, and her huge form was casting a shadow over both him and Abigail. In one gloved hand, she held her infamous bladed cane.

“You look surprised to see me. I will admit, I am a little surprised to see you, also – a child, running around with guns and a bat painted on his chest and back,” her voice was oddly sweet, just like Layla had told Tim. “I thought Batman didn’t like those, but you aren’t Batman, are you?”

“I’ve got a friend hunting down your accomplices, Valkyrie. It’s over.”

“Oh? Is it really? I don’t think it’s over until you’ve brought me in to the police, and you haven’t done that yet,” she cracked her neck, taking a step closer to Jason. “Do you want to try, Batboy?”

He pointed both guns in her direction.

“I really, really do, actually.”

“So the guns aren’t just for show? You can’t fight hand-to-hand?”

“If you’re trying to provoke me, it’s not gonna work.”

“No, of course not. I’m distracting you.”

Abigail shoved Jason forwards from behind – the Valkyrie then used her cane as a bat and smacked him in the side of the head, _hard_. He went down fast, still conscious, but his vision was swimming and he couldn’t even balance on his arms.

“Take his guns, Abigail. We mustn’t let him try that sort of business again,” Jason watched Abigail’s feet move in front of him, snatching his guns off of the floor from where they had fallen. He then winced when he felt the blunt end of the Valkyrie’s cane dig into his back. “I have word from my people that Robin is on to me. Where is he now, hm? Is he your accomplice?”

“I’m... not telling you _shit_.” the Red Hood grunted, despite the pain of her cane increasing with every passing second.

“Hm,” she drew back her weapon, twirling it between her fingers absentmindedly and replacing where it had been on Jason’s back with her foot. “It’s very hard to find a gladiator styled sandal with a heel, you know? Not many people make that sort of thing,” she stepped down on his ribcage, making him wheeze. “How do they feel, Batboy?”

“Well-made, I’ll admit.”

The Valkyrie gritted her teeth, increasing the weight on his back.

“Where is Robin? How many of your ribs will I have to crack before you crack, too?”

“I’m remarkably sturdy. Maybe,” Jason managed a smirk underneath his cracked helmet despite what was now quickly building into stabbing pain. “all of ‘em?”

The cane lashed down on his upper back, but he didn’t dare make an audible giveaway that the pain level had now built to excruciating.

“ _Where is he_?!” the Valkyrie roared – Abigail jumped at the volume.

“Dunno. Maybe he’s already dealt with your people. Maybe he’s on his way here. But like I said, I dunno, really.”

There was a pause. Jason wheezed every breath in and out, waiting for the woman’s next move.

“Abigail, call them. Make sure they’re aware of what’s coming,” the Valkyrie took her foot off of the Red Hood’s back and effortlessly lifted him by his coat. “And if he doesn’t feel like treating my people kindly, well, I suppose I shall just have to do likewise with his friend here.”

Perfect.

Jason watched from his now lofty perch in the Valkyrie’s grip as Abigail pulled out her phone and began making the call. And as soon as it connected to whatever member of the theatre group’s phone (fingers crossed it was one of them), Barbara would be waiting to hand the co-ordinates to Tim.

Any second now.

“Hello? It’s Abigail.”

Go time.

 

 

{“ _I’ve got a cell with co-ordinates at The Chimney Sweep making contact with a member of the Women’s Theatre Group. Attempting to lock on to the second location now – I’ll try get you an ear in the conversation, too._ ”}

“Thanks, Oracle.” Tim stood up from where he had been nestled on the Gotham Theatre rooftop. The women’s group hadn’t been there that night, annoyingly, but this call would probably reveal wherever they had been hiding out.

He and Jason had previously agreed to go to The Chimney Sweep together in order to take down the Valkyrie, but Barbara had pointed out that even if they managed to capture her, her allies would begin an onslaught in order to get her back.  
So Tim had been sent to search out her followers whilst Jason said he’d take care of ‘Pigtails’, or Abigail, the actual Valkyrie herself. Jason was, Tim had to admit, the more offensively able of the two of them. It was probably for the best that it had worked out this way.

{“ _Aaaaand got it! They’re not too far from The Chimney Sweep – in a warehouse about a mile west from it. I’m marking the location in on your wrist screen now._ ”}

“What about the call? Can you get ears in there?”

{“ _Just a second – start making your way there and I’ll connect the feed once I’ve got it._ ”}

Tim fired his batclaw to the next building, gathering up speed in the air and launching himself into a glide, heading towards the eastern side of the island. Rain began to pitter-patter down on to his glider cape and then onto the city streets below. With its artificial glow and the view this height afforded, Gotham actually looked beautiful. A shame its aesthetic didn’t match its inhabitants.

{“ _Got your call feed – you should be hearing it now._ ”}

**[** _“—Robin’s on to you! As in Batman’s Robin!”_

_“Don’t fret, we already know. Kitty came and warned us.”_ **]**

Tim frowned. So – Kitty was in on this as well? Did that mean Layla was too? Was this entire thing a setup all along?

**[** _“Well, what are you planning to do about it? They know it was us who killed that blogger!”_

_“They? Who’s they?”_

_“Some helmeted guy with a Bat symbol painted on him! The boss thinks he’s working with Robin!”_

_“A two pronged attack. Where is this Bat?”_

_“The boss dealt with him. Came in here accusing me of being the Valkyrie, and n-nearly put a bullet through my skull.”_

_“Well, if he shows up and threatens anything, make his friend **hurt**.”_ **]**

Dealt with him? Something had happened to Jason. And if what Abigail was saying was true...

{“ _Damnit,_ ”} Barbara hissed. {“ _I messed up._ ”}

“Don’t beat yourself up about it. We know where the real one is, and we know the theatre group are definitely in cahoots with her.”

{“ _But because of me, Jason’s—_ ”}

“They don’t know that we know that. There’s gotta be some advantage we can get out of this,” Tim interrupted, before he could even begin to think of what said advantage was himself. “There’s someone we’re missing here. Something must link all of these women together, and whatever it is will give us the Valkyrie’s identity.”

{“ _Well, the obvious link would be The Chimney Sweep._ ”}

“Deeper than that. Just—just try running all the names we know, see if there’s a common factor,” his wrist tech made a quiet buzzing noise, indicating he was closing in on the target area. “I’ll deal with the theatre group.”

{“ _I’ll give you whatever I find. Be careful, Robin. One wrong move could cause Jason a world of pain._ ”}

“Don’t worry,” Tim landed silently on the rooftop of the old warehouse. “I learned from the best.”

The walls of the rickety place were so thin that if he was quiet enough, Tim could hear the now slightly panicked women talking to each other without his tech. Activating the detective mode programmed into his mask revealed eight women within the building—

No. Nine. But one of them was dead.

“How are we supposed to know when he’s coming?”

“Someone stand outside and keep watch, _now_!”

Robin crept along the roof towards the front of the building, watching from overhead when one of the women was shoved outside to be a sentry. She glanced around nervously, pulling a handgun out of her skirts and turning off the safety.

“... Okay, you can do this, Nella,” she told herself in a hushed tone. “Just shoot him in the arm when he swings down or something. He’s not nearly as tough as Batma—”

Nella’s shriek for help was muffled by Tim’s arm, who had silently landed behind her – holding her in place until she finally passed out was far more problematic than he had anticipated, the girl thrashing quite violently until the lack of air finally rendered her unconscious. He then returned to the rooftop and began searching for a give in the building materials that might allow a surprise drop attack.

“This is all Layla’s damn fault. You said you could keep her in line, Kitty.”

“I couldn’t stop this from happening!”

“You know what happens to snitches, right? Like that blogger girl? Like lovely Tess over here?”

“But the Valkyrie is supposed to protect women like Layla! Women who were attacked by men! You can’t spit on the code you uphold! It’s not Layla’s fault that the Valkyrie didn’t stick around to take her in!”

“Because we were waiting for _you_ to do that!”

Listening to their arguing without the entirety of the context behind it just made the situation more confusing, Tim realised. If he wanted his answers, he needed to get them through interrogation, which meant incapacitating all of them.

Okay. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this stuff before.

{“ _Robin? I have something for you – I think it might give us an answer as to who the Valkyrie is. All of our bar regulars, including Kitty, attended a charity ball hosted by the Norton family about two years ago – the funds of which were intended to allow the inception of the Gotham Women’s Protection Society._ ”} Barbara explained.

“The Norton family?” Tim asked in as soft as voice as could. “I only knew they were friends of Bruce’s. Anything else I should know?”

{“ _Hector Norton was running for mayor of the city when Sharp was elected – in the hopes of forging a political allegiance, he lent a great deal of his fortune to the construction of Arkham City._ ”}

“Ah.”

{“ _His family were ruined and penniless after everything went down. Had to sell their houses, their shares, the shoes on their feet. All of the money that was to go into the GWPS was gone._ ”}

“So this group decided to take matters into their own hands. Does anyone on the guest list match the description of the Valkyrie?”

{“ _The Valkyrie’s the largest woman I’ve ever seen, but we’ve never seen her face. I’ll go over the entire guest list alongside photographs and see if I can find anything._ ”}

“Thanks.”

The most centred parts of the roofing material would obviously have the least structure supporting them, so Tim made his way over to them carefully as this was definitely a plan that could bite him in the ass if he wasn’t careful about it.   
He needed to get them while they were all surprised. Luckily, they were all still gathered around what was obviously Tess’ body, if what he had heard was true.

Alright. One, two—

The roofing gave way under his weight and he fell through into the warehouse, landing rather unglamourously on top of one of the women, knocking her out. Okay – not exactly the plan, but now there were only six of them to deal with, right?

“So nice of you to _drop in_ , Robin, although I think poor Mary underneath you there might think differently.”

Oh God.   
The remaining members of the group surrounded him in a circle formation, and they were all dressed like the Valkyrie, with slight varying touches to the costume. Detective mode helped him assign names to covered faces.

Arabella Smith, Sharon Downing, Holly Malone, Faith van Kamp, Karen Gold... and Kitty Edwards.

“Imagine the shock we would have gotten if we hadn’t known you were coming after us,” Arabella continued, pulling a gun from her coat. “Such a shame our meeting has to be so brief.”

“There was never only one Valkyrie,” Tim realised aloud. “You just... you have different signatures.”

“Oh, he’s so clever!” Sharon cooed. “Do we have to kill him?”

“Oh for God’s sake, pull it together!” Arabella snapped.

“But he’d be so good with my girl! All those boys she brings back are just awful.”

“Oh yeah, once he’s turned us all in to the GCPD I’m sure he’ll take her to fucking Homecoming.”

“Watch that pottymouth, young lady!”

Tim watched the bickering go back and forth in vague fascination for a few seconds before realising that this was his chance to get a better position in this situation. He fired his Batclaw on to the rafters and shot up from the Valkyries’ circle. There wasn’t much light in the old building, and he quickly found apt supplies of shadows to hide in.

“Where is he gone?! This is all your fault, you mumsieing _clod_!” Arabella shrieked, firing her gun in the direction Robin had disappeared in. “Spread out! Find him!”

“Ladies, please,” Faith gestured for them to stop moving out. “There is no need for this. We are becoming animalistic, and _you_ ,” she pointed to Arabella, who glared. “are becoming wrung out. There are easier ways of doing this. Give me the phone.”

She dialled a number and waited a moment.

“Abigail? I’m putting you on speakerphone – we have a _guest_ who should hear what the boss has to say.”

**[** _“Hello, Robin. Thank you for looking after Layla for me,”_ **]** the sweet voice reached all corners of the building, including the one Tim was hiding in. **[** _“I have someone you might want to hear from. Come on, Batboy, don’t be shy... I said **talk**.”_ **]**

Tim winced at Jason’s cry of pain.

**[** _“Nobody has to be hurt. Not anymore. I need you to leave us alone. You don’t understand how important the Valkyrie is to Gotham – an unconfirmed figure, keeping the streets safe for women. Not unlike your Batman, at one point.”_ **]**

“You’re not like him,” he called from his hiding place. “Batman never killed. Your group, they’re killing their own! They’re picking off anyone who breathes a word of your secret!”

**[** _“We are Valkyries, Robin. We decide who dies. It is for the greater good.”_ **]**

“I have everyone in this room’s name, Valkyrie. I’ll call the GCPD and hand them over. You wanted to protect women, but you’re _killing_ them! You’re no better than the men who attack them!”

**[** “ _You call the police and I will add your friend here to that tally,” **]**_ Jason yelped out in pain again. _ **[** “You could never understand what we went through, all of us. Nobody wanted to protect us. Not even your Bat. He never had time for us, only for the garbage criminals he kept letting slip through his fingers._  
 _Women who were hurt. Tricked. Forced into horrible situations by men who thought they could mold them and hold them and have them in any way they wanted! Women who’s voices were silenced by the laughter of maniacs who took up all the time of the police! Nobody would save us, so we saved ourselves!_  
 _Everyone knew who the Bat was. There was not a man alive who did not rise up in order to goad that he could beat the Knight. But as long as the Valkyrie remains a secret, then no one shall attempt to slay it. It is the only way we can survive, and if I have to kill both you and this loudmouthed horror in order to keep that secret, so be it!_ ” **]**

“Wait!”

Tim took a deep breath and leapt down from his hiding place, holding his hands up in surrender. All of the Valkyries trained their guns on his approaching figure.

{“ _Robin? I ran the Valkyrie’s voice through the system and found a match,_ ”} Barbara told him. {“ _This looks bad, I know, but you’re good with your words. I know you can do this. I’ve alerted my dad and the rest of the GCPD to both you and Hood’s locations._  
 _Alexandra Norton. Hector’s daughter, and the founder of the GWPS. She was a darling of society and had a modelling career that ended suddenly with the death of her manager two and a half years ago. She gained weight rapidly after his death, and disappeared from the public eye until the charity ball was held. I... I think you can fill in the blanks._ ”}

“I’m sorry about what happened to you. All of you. You came together because of horrible things that were inflicted on you by equally horrible people, and the system failed you. So you took matters into your own hands,” Tim began. “Your money was taken to house the criminals that made sure the police never had the time to hear your cries for help. You had nothing left, except the pain inflicted upon you, and the anger rising within you, and those emotions took the wheel and drove you all to the only option it looked like you had left.”

**[** _“What? What money, wh-what are you talking about?”_ **]**

“Alexandra Norton. Your father was so focused on his campaign to become mayor, he didn’t notice what had happened to you, what had been happening to you. He didn’t notice you hide away from the public, he didn’t care about the charity you wanted to found and the people you wanted to help when he could have been using the money to forge allegiances with Sharp.   
You knew people who had been hurt like you had. Mothers, students, artists, the very people who had supported your idea and helped fund it, who’d had their money taken from them too. You became a new idea, together, all of you. An idea that didn’t have to fit any guidelines, that didn’t need any funds. Spitting in the face of the law that had ignored you by breaking it so recklessly, and getting away with it... because they still weren’t noticing you.   
And that’s really what makes you angry, isn’t it? Even after you’ve been hurt, even after you’ve been dangling yourselves in front of the police, they still aren’t noticing. But I am. I only want to help you, Alexandra. I want to help all of you, and everyone that’s been hurt like you have. But I can’t help anyone if you kill me. Everyone you’ve killed, the ones who had heard of the Valkyrie, the ones who wanted to tell tales of seeing her... they only wanted to help, too.”

The silence that hung in the air allowed the faint sound of police sirens to be heard by everyone inside of the warehouse. Alexandra still hadn’t said anything, and the Valkyries were glancing around nervously, guns still pointed.

[ _“... It’s over, isn’t it?”_ ] she finally said, voice shaking. [ _“I can hear them coming. The police.”_ ]

“It’s not over. The Valkyrie isn’t dead.”

**[** _"But nobody knows. We made sure... nobody knew."_ **]**

“Not everyone.”

Kitty brought a hand to her chest in realisation just as the GCPD kicked down the doors of the warehouse.

“Freeze!” Commissioner Gordon roared. “Weapons on the ground, you are surrounded!”

The Valkyries all dropped their firearms, looking to one another as they were taken by policemen and cuffed. Gordon approached Tim, clapping his shoulder.

“Barbara fed the audio through to the GCPD communications centre. Knowing what happened underneath my nose... underneath Bruce’s, too,” he sighed deeply. “This is exactly why we can’t let things get as bad as they were. Never again.”

Tim could only nod, watching the costumed women get taken away.

“Robin!” Kitty cried to him. “Layla had nothing to do with this! Make sure she’s okay, please!”

She was shoved into the back of an armoured van with the rest of them, the door of which was slammed shut, and then the vehicle began to drive away. Another group of police began taping off the area and allowed forensics to examine Tess’ body.

{“ _Is everything okay down there?_ ”} Barbara asked.

“Yeah. I’m here with your dad. We’re okay. Have you been able to get in touch with Jason?”

{“ _His helmet got smashed pretty badly, so his communications are all over the place, but I managed to piece together from it that he’s alright, too._ ”}

“Good. If you can, let him know I’ll be at the GCPD.”

{“ _Roger that. I knew you could do this. If we keep this up, we can make sure that no one ever has to go to measures like Alexandra’s ever again._ ”}

“Yeah,” Tim managed the smallest of smiles. “I know we can.”

 

 

“Thanks for bringing me home. I know you’re really busy,” Layla turned to Tim, who was still in full Robin attire. The two of them stood by her apartment door. “Today has been... i-it’s been a lot of stuff. I just wanna sleep it all off.”

“I’m sorry about everything that happened. Are you going to be okay?”

Layla nodded slowly, sighing. Her eyes went to the floor for a moment, then back to Tim.

“I never even got to tell my mom about me and Kitty. And now... she’s probably going to jail. I still can’t believe she knew about this, a-and that she was one of them. She was a part of the Valkyrie. She... saved me, in a way.”

There was an awkward pause.

“Listen, I feel like I should tell you this before I leave you. Layla, the Valkyrie operated in such a manner that anybody who found out about their existence was killed. It was to keep the group a secret, so that nobody would be out to get them. Now that the women who created the concept are going to be behind bars...” Tim met her gaze. “You’re the only one who knows the whole truth about it. About what it represents.”

Layla’s face was the picture of confusion.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“I just think it’s definitely the kind of thing that shouldn’t be thought of carelessly. Even though they went about it the wrong way, the Valkyrie stood for something important. They protected people who didn’t have anybody to protect them, and that will stay with those vulnerable people forever. The myth of that protector still lives on because nobody really knew if they existed or not, or who was behind it. Do you understand?”

“So... just because Kitty and the others are in jail, it doesn’t mean that the Valkyrie is gone forever?” Layla asked, turning to unlock the door of her apartment.

“Exactly,” he smiled knowingly. “The Valkyrie is only as dead as the ones who know about it allow it to be.”

“So—you mean, it’s all on me, right?”

She turned back and Robin had vanished into thin air. Huh. Apparently Batman used to do that a lot. Maybe he taught Robin how to do it, too? Layla just shook her head and opened the door to her apartment.

“Megan!” she called to her roommate. “Are you home?”

Megan had left the TV on again (as if student loans weren’t enough on top of their electricity bill), she noticed whilst closing the door. Although she couldn’t see the image, it was setting a glow over the normally dimly lit living area, and she could hear the news playing.

[ _“... daughter of former political icon Hector Norton has been arrested, along with members of the local women’s theatre group and more, charged with the murders of a currently unknown number of men and women over the past two years,”_ ] Layla recognised the voice as – who else? – Vicki Vale. [ _“The Nortons fell out of the public eye after their vast fortune was siphoned up by Sharp’s Arkham City project, and Hector Norton could not be located to comment on his daughter’s arrest—”_ ]

She switched the station off and sat down on the sofa, channel surfing for something, anything that would help her stop thinking about what had happened over the past day and night. Eventually settling on some sort of celebrity kitchen show, she felt herself relax, at long last and pulled a blanket that was on the couch around herself.

Upon studying it again, she found it was the one that the Valkyrie had draped around her last night. Well, the half a minute of forgetting about the ordeal had been nice while it lasted – still, she didn’t discard it after realising where it had come from.

_You are safe._

The soft, sweet voice rang through her mind. Layla squeezed her eyes shut and found herself blocking tears from falling that she didn’t know had formed in the first place, and her hands balled into fists of the blanket’s comforting material.

“Layla?” Megan emerged from her bedroom. “I didn’t hear you come in, I was using my headphones—oh, God, are you okay? C’mere, sweetie.”

She made her way over to the now crying bundle on the sofa, wrapping her in a hug and running fingers through her blonde hair.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe. That creep’s never gonna touch you, or anyone, ever again.”

Layla froze in Megan’s embrace. Coincidence. Right? They weren’t even the exact same words. She felt her face being tipped up from underneath by her roommate’s fingers and looked into a pair of concerned eyes.

“You okay? You went rigid all of a sudden.”

“Y-Yeah, it’s just... been a long day,” she wiped the wetness from her eyes. “Megan?”

“Yeah?”

“You wouldn’t... if you were a...” Layla sighed heavily. “Nevermind. Forget I said it. I’m just being paranoid, a-and I’m tired.”

Megan furrowed her brow, but nodded and left it alone.

“Where’d you get this blanket? It’s super cozy.”

“It was... the person who helped me.”

“Oh, that big lady? What did you say she was called again?”

_The Valkyrie is only as dead as the ones who know about it allow it to be._

“She was...” Layla swallowed hard, fingered the blanket that was the subject of their conversation. The immediate item of comfort after she had been saved by someone who had not been so lucky, apparently. Somebody who had wanted to make a difference.

And she had. Layla was here now, far less scarred than she could have been had that figure not shown up. To let it die like this would be a disservice.

“The Valkyrie. She _is_ the Valkyrie.”

It was the same material that covered the woman’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me so long to finish this chapter. There were two very different versions of it, but I eventually went with this one. It felt right, in the end. I hope I didn't rush anything! I wanted a short-ish storyline for the first new villain just to test the waters. There are definitely more on their way.  
> And who says that this is the end for the Valkyrie, anyways?
> 
> Once again, this is a heavy-ish chapter that deals with some dark stuff, so if you think I should add any tags to the story, please let me know!  
> Come bother me on tumblr! http://bowdowntomama.tumblr.com
> 
> Next chapter: a lot of ideas still bouncing around, but the underlying plot will rear its head again. Also - stripclubs.


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